THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


L 


THEY  MET  BY  CHANCE: 


BY 

OLIVE    LOGAN, 

(Mrs.  Wirt  Sikes,) 

Author  of  "CHATEAU  FRISSAC,"   "PHOTOGRAPHS  OF  PARIS  LIFE,' 

"WOMEN  AND  THEATRES,"    "THE  MIMIC  WORLD," 

"GET  THEE  BEHIND  ME,  SATAN,"  ETC. 


NEW    YORK: 
ADAMS,   VICTOR  &   CO.,   PUBLISHERS, 

98      WILLIAM      STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

ADAMS,  VICTOR  &  CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


ALL      RIGHTS      RESERVED      BY      THE      AUTHOR. 


Stereotyped  at  the 

WOMAN'S     PRINTING     HOUSE, 
56,  58  and  60  Park  Street, 
New  York. 


ro 


THEY    MET    BY    CHANCE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A  STRANGE  GIRL'S  LETTER. 

PHILADELPHIA,  June  15,  187-. 

DEAR  OLD  FAY  : — Are  you  going  out  of  town 
this  summer?  Of  course  you  are.  As  for  me 
I'm  frantic  to  go.  Those  indispensable  appur 
tenances  of  every  well-regulated  girl's  household, 
papa  and  mamma,  don't  see  the  necessity,  of 
course — think  we'll  be  much  more  comfortable  at 
home.  I  HATE  COMFORT  !  Comfort  is  all  they 
think  of  in  this  bed-quilt-y  old  city.  I've  been 
sweltered  in  it  up  to  my  ears  the  whole  winter. 
When  the  snow  lay  thick  upon  the  ground  and 


8  A  Strange  Girl's  Letter. 

my  blood  tingled  through  my  veins  and  I  wanted 
to  run  out  in  the  front  yard  and  snowball  folks, 
mother  and  father  have  ordered  more  coal  on  the 
fire,  had  Thingumbob's  patent  Thingumies  nailed 
to  the  windows,  and  turned  the  house  into  a  pate 
de  foie  gras  stewing  oven.  Then  they  looked 
blandly  at  each  other,  and  said,  "  La,  ain't  it  com 
fortable  !  "  I  hate  it,  Fay.  If  I  had  my  way  I'd 
prance  out  on  the  plains,  hobnob  with  Indians, 
lasso  the  bison,  dance  the  German  with  Brigham 
Young  !  Now  it's  hot  weather,  and  stay  at  home 
longer  I  will  not.  I'm  going  to  Long  Branch,  if  I 
have  to  go  as  a  flower-girl  in  a  scarlet  flannel  sack 
and  an  idiotic  grin,  and  peddle  boutonnieres  at  ten 
cents  the  buttonhole  full. 

Major  Cheraw  was  over  here  Thursday  and 
dined  with  us.  We  gave  him  one  of  those  com 
fortable  dinners  for  which  we  are  noted,  and  which 
must  have  made  him  feel  like  sending  us  tracts  by 
Brillat  Savarin,  culinary  heathens  that  we  are. 
Fancy  Dougherty  (our  mature  maid-servant,  who 
waits  at  table  and  joins  in  the  current  conversation 
with  the  utmost  coolness,  and  expresses  her  opin 
ion  on  ourselves  and  our  guests  with  a  critical 
frankness  we  never  dare  to  imitate  concerning  her 
doings),  fancy  this  good,  middle-aged  soul,  I  say, 
serving  that  elegant  but  elderly  militaire  with  a 
great  cup  of  steaming  tea  with  his  soup,  just  as 
we  have  it  en  famille ,  because  it  is  so  comfortable  ! 
Cheraw  put  his  eye-glass  up  and  examined  the 


A  Strange  Girl's  Letter.  9 

jorum  of  tea  as  if  it  were  some  curious  decoction 
in  use  among  us  Esquimaux,  and  of  which 
he  must  take  especial  note,  so  as  to  mention  it  in 
his  Government  report.  Dougherty  immediately 
opened  fire  (to  use  one  of  the  major's  own 
phrases)  upon  him. 

"  Faith,"  says  she,  turning  to  look  at  him  while 
she  held  the  bread-plate  under  my  nose,  "  that's  a 
raal  good  cup  of  tay.  It's  none  o'  thim  weak 
shlops  ye  git  in  New  York.  It's  meself  made  it 
good  and  shtrong :  I  putt  in  a  spoonful  for  each  of 
yees  and  two  for  the  pot.  Yis,  I  did,  ma'am," 
she  went  on,  nodding  her  head  at  my  mother  as 
if  she  expected  a  rebuke  then  and  there  for  such 
New  Yorkish  extravagance,  "  I  says  to  meself, 
says  I,  I'll  give  the  ould  felley  a  good  sthrong  cup 
o'  tay  for  wanst  in  his  life." 

Fancy  it  !  No  one  dared  answer  Dougherty. 
The  only  thing  to  do  was  that  which  my  learned 
parent  did — clear  his  throat  with  a  great  hem  ! 
wider  than  that  on  my  new  book-muslin  skirt,  and 
say,  "  Maj-jah  Cher-aw  !  "  exactly  in  the  way  he 
does  when  he  ejaculates  "  Gental-menn  of  the 
Ju-ree  !  "  Of  course  Cheraw,  who  has  savoir 
faire,  savoir  dire,  savoir  vivre  and  every  other 
savoir  under  the  sun  at  the  finger-tips  of  his  one 
remaining  hand,  met  pa  more  than  half-way,  and 
so  Dougherty's  Beotian  ignorance  was  glossed 
over.  When  I  proposed  discharging  her  the  next 
day,  such  an  outcry  as  was  raised  !  We've  had 


, 


io  A  Strange  Girl's  Letter. 

her  sixteen  years,  and  she's  so  comfortable  !  We 
tried  a  man  waiter  at  table  for  a  while,  but  he  came 
in  smelling  of  liquor  every  day,  and  was  altogether 
too  uncomfortable  to  be  endured. 

Oh, — how  is  that  dear  fellow,  Stuart  Phelps  ? 
Don't  blush,  m'amie.  Major  Cheraw  told  us — 
you  are  engaged.  Well,  trot  him  out  with  you 
at  the  Branch— for  of  course  you're  going.  Cor 
nelia  Cor  iwallis  is — and  by  the  way,  Fay,  of 
course  you  mustn't  think  that  we — the  Parsons 
family — are  good  representatives  of  the  monde 
elegant  of  Philadelphia.  The  Cornwallises  are 
that,  you  know.  You'd  never  get  a  cup  of  tea  at 
dinner  in  their  house — no,  not  if  you  were  dying 
for  it,  I  was  going  to  say  ;  but  Chambertin  at  eight 
dollars  a  bottle  circulates  with  a  perfect  looseness, 
and  they  use  Johannisberger  in  their  finger- 
bowls..  They  are  rich,  awfully  rich,  and  we  are — 
comfortable ;  but  we  shan't  be  much  longer,  that 
I'm  determined,  for  go  to  Long  Branch  I  will. 

Jt  seems  strange,  Fay,  that  you  should  marry 
Stuart  Phelps^ — a  good,  dear  fellow,  true  enough, 
but  one  you've  known  ever  since  you  were  so 
high  !  Perhaps  you  feel  all  the  better  satisfied 
with  him  on  this  account,  but  that's  too  comfort 
able  a  proceeding  for  my  fancy.  I  like  something 
strange,  wild,  unexpected,  adventuresome,  thrill 
ing,  in  my  choice.  No  long  acquaintanceship  for 
me.  I  want  a  romantic  duck,  who,  in  after  years, 
when  we  are  poetically  uncomfortable  on  a  small 


The  Flight  of  Summer  Birds.  II 

income,  shall  be  able  to  look  in  my  eyes  and  sing 
— flat,  as  most  men  do — 

We  met  by  chance, 

We  me-ha-et  by  cha-ah-ance, 

We  met  by  chance,  the  usual  way. 

and  so — until  we  meet  at  the  sea-side, 

I  remain  your  loving  friend, 

PONY  PARSONS. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   FLIGHT   OF  SUMMER   BIRDS. 

THE  summer  sun  is  at  its  hottest,  pouring  down 
prostration  on  the  fanning,  panting,  perspiring, 
linen-clad,  umbrella-shaded  crowd  of  Broadway. 
The  newspapers  of  the  morning  contain  a  long  list 
of  names  of  patients  who  yesterday  were  sunstruck, 
and  some  of  whom  are  to-day  dead  or  dying  or 
slowly  convalescing,  in  that  building  there  to  the 
left  as  you  descend  Broadway,  and  which  bears  a 
great  sign  with  this  legend  :  "  Hospital  for  the 
Reception  of  Sunstruck  Patients." 

To  avoid  the  possibility  of  figuring  in  this  list 
to-morrow,  we  are  leaving  Broadway  and  the 
heat  for  the  agreeable  purpose  of  journeying  with 


12  The  Flight  of  Summer  Birds. 

a  handsome  woman  to  Long  Branch  and  to  the 
.cool  breezes  of  the  sea. 

Having  paid  the  hackman  at  the  dock  for  the 
mere  transportation  of  herself  a  distance  of  two 
miles  to  the  boat's  landing,  a  sum  which  would 
have  sufficed  for  a  day's  pleasuring  in  a  neat  cab 
in  an  European  city,  Mrs.  Duncan  makes  her  way 
to  a  comfortable  seat  shaded  by  awnings  from  the 
sun  and  protected  from  too  strong  a  breeze,  on 
the  upper  deck  of  the  Long  Branch  boat.  She 
needs  no  direction  from  the  boat's  servants  as  to 
where  she  shall  bestow  herself;  she  knows  her 
way  about  perfectly ;  and  from  the  manner  in 
which  she  deliberately  selects  the  cosiest  corner — 
while  other  people  are  rushing  about,  wondering 
on  which  side  the  sun  will  be,  whether  here  the 
wind  may  not  blow  too  strongly,  and  giving  way  to 
other  doubts  and  fears — it  is  evident  that  travel  on 
the  Long  Branch  boats  is  no  new  experience  to 
Mrs.  Duncan. 

Having  seated  herself  comfortably,  we  may  com 
fortably  scan  her  while  the  big  boat  puffs  off  on 
its  outward  trip,  laden  with  fair  freight,  pleasure- 
bound.  She  looks  young,  is  young ;  but  how 
young?  Ah,  that  is  a  difficult  question;  and  not 
a  very  vital  one  ;  for  whatever  her  age,  scarce  any 
one  who  looked  upon  her  but  would  acknowledge 
her  a  fascinating  creature.  It  is  not  the  extreme 
richness  and  elegance  of  her  costume,  though  that 
is  a  positive  aid  undoubtedly  to  her  attractions, 


The  Flight  of  Summer  Birds.  13 

which  is  the  cause  of  this  ;  her  deeply  blue  eyes, 
her  complexion  of  marble  whiteness,  her  pinky 
cheeks,  her  soft  dark-brown  hair,  these  seen  any 
where,  under  any  circumstances,  would  stamp  their 
possessor  as  a  beautiful  woman.  Her  dress  is  a 
rich  robe  of  black  silk,  cut  in  the  extreme  of  the 
prevailing  fashion  ;  and  every  detail  of  her  belong 
ings,  the  tiny  umbrella  in  her  hand,  the  dainty 
traveling  bag  at  her  side,  the  Cashmere  shawl 
thrown  carelessly  across  her  arm,  bespeaks  her  a 
person  as  little  accustomed  to  restraint  in  expen 
diture,  as  if  she  were  an  English  Duchess  with  a 
rent-roll  in  acres. 

Among  the  passengers  this  afternoon  was  one 
who  had  elbowed  his  way  through  the  crowd  that 
thronged  the  upper  deck  as  the  boat  sped  on, 
bearing  in  his  left  hand  a  somewhat  shabby  black 
satchel,  and  holding  aloft  in  his  right  a  camp-stool 
which  he  finally  planted  on  a  corner  of  Mrs.  Dun 
can's  dress.  The  lady  quietly  removed  it. 

"Oh,  excuse  me,"  said  the  offender,  rearrang 
ing  his  camp-stool.  Mrs.  Duncan  acknowledged 
the  apology  by  a  slight  bend  of  her  shapely  neck. 

He  was  a  tall,  lank  man  in  a  suit  of  finest  broad 
cloth,  with  a  diamond  an  empress  might  envy, 
stuck  in  the  front  of  a  shirt  which  had  said  au 
revoir  to  a  laundress  fully  a  week  ago  ;  with  a  soft 
black  hat  set  low  on  his  wrinkled  forehead,  and 
two  saffron  beds — dried  rivulets  of  tobacco-juice — 
running  from  the  corners  of  his  hard  mouth  to 


14  The  Flight  of  Summer  Birds. 

their  outlet  in  the  wiry  recesses  of  his  stiff 
"goatee"  beard.  Mr.  Wiggins  was  a  Western 
man,  still  young — not  more  than  forty — who  had 
passed  through  many  phases  of  existence.  He 
began  life  as  an  errand  boy  in  a  Cincinnati  grocery 
store,  at  a  salary  of  half  a  dollar  a  week.  Perhaps 
he  was  fourteen  then.  In  the  twenty-odd  years 
since  that  time  he  had  been  salesman  in  a  dry- 
goods  store,  book-keeper,  dry-goods  merchant, 
lumber  dealer — had  failed  for  a  large  sum,  an  ex 
perience  twice  repeated — by  turns  penniless  and 
flushed  with  spoil,  but  active,  energetic,  sharp, 
ignorant,  and  successful  at  last.  At  present  he  is 
one  of  the  leading  citizens  of  Oshkosh,  Wiscon 
sin.  Having  placed  himself  again  upon  his  camp- 
stool,  he  proceeds  to  stare  with  special  fixedness 
at  a  lady  in  his  vicinity,  and  to  say  to  himself, 
"  That  Eyetalian  woman  is  a  stunner." 

Regarding  Mr.  Wiggins  with  a  meditative  air, 
was  a  young  man  with  a  crape  about  his  hat,  and 
garments  of  so  gay  a  color  and  so  pronounced  a 
cut,  that  they  seemed  to  give  the  lie  to  the  sug 
gestion  of  mourning  put  forth  by  the  weed.  He 
stood  leaning  carelessly  against  the  guards,  with  a 
toothpick  held  between  his  lips,  and  which  occa 
sionally  moved  about  without  the  aid  of  his  hands. 

The  family  group  beyond — father,  mother,  four 
or  five  children,  and  a  couple  of  servants — bear  a 
name  whose  very  sound  is  a  synonym  for  New 
York  city  lots ;  which,  purchased  by  some  thrifty 


The  Flight  of  Slimmer  Birds.  15 

grandparent,  a  half  century  ago — the  price  of  each 
being  no  more  than  a  bundle  of  wormy  furs  per 
haps^now  pour  into  these  descendants'  laps    an 
income  greater  than  that  enjoyed  as  private  fortune 
by  any  one  of  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe. 

That  girl,  with  eyes  black  as  midnight,  soft  as 
sunset,  liquid  as  a  dewdrop,  is  from  the  South  ;  less 
than  a  week  ago  she  was  married  to  the  tall,  grace 
ful,  handsome  man  at  her  side — her  playfellow 
from  infancy.  Near  her,  chatting  somewhat  noisily 
in  French  to  a  group  of  men  elaborate  of  toilet, 
swarthy  of  complexion,  and  for  the  most  part  of 
marked  rotundity  of  figure,  is  a  dark  woman  of 
questionable  elegance,  shrugging  her  shoulders, 
laughing  loudly,  telling  some  stories  about  the  in 
sane  follies  an  English  milor  had  committed  for  her 
sake-^though,  ma  foi,  he  was  not  half  so  bete  as 
the  Russian  prince — this  is  the  last  new  prima 
donna  from  Europe,  surrounded  by  fellow-artists, 
the  basso,  the  tenor,  the  baritone  of  her  troupe. 
Upon  her  the  eyes  of  the  exaggerated  young  man 
with  the  weed  on  his  hat,  are  bent  from  time  to 
time  as  if  in  special  interest ;  the  toothpick  revolv 
ing  more  rapidly  than  ever  under  the  influence  of 
his  emotions. 

Mrs.  Duncan,  too,  is  attracted  by  this  noisy 
group,  which  is  close  by  her,  and  whose  conversation 
appears  to  amuse  her.  Of  the  great  crowd  outside 
of  them — the  vulgar  women  with  cheap  clothing, 
the  children  munching  sweets  or  fruit  of  one  kind 


1 6  The  Flight  of  Summer  Birds. 

or  another,  the  men  talking  of  railway  stocks,  tha 
price  of  gold,  sugar,  the  cotton  crop,  and  occa-. 
sionally  of  the  latest  performances  of  Continental 
statesmen,  whose   names   they  outrageously  mis 
pronounce — she  takes  no  more  heed  than  of  the  fly 
which  but  now  alighted  upon  her  cheek.     It  came 
near  her ;  she  was  cognizant  of  it  and  she  brushed 
it  away ;  and  being  away  she  thinks  of  it  no  more. 
Upon  a  camp-stool  beside  her  (for  in  spite  of  the 
crowd  she  had  managed  to  reserve  an  extra  stool — 
people  came  and  looked  at  it,  encountered  a  cool 
glance   from  her  steady  blue  eyes,  and  supposing 
the  seat  to  be  engaged  for  some  absent  husband  or 
lady  friend,  moved  away),  the  lady  had  placed  her 
bag,  her  shawl,  the  newest  magazines,  and  two  or 
three  of  the  evening  papers  which  a  newsboy  had 
pressed  upon  her  as  the  boat  was  starting.     After 
scanning  the  shipping  and  the  shore  for  a  while  as 
the  boat  moved  on,  she  turned  over  the  pages  of  a 
magazine,  glancing  hastily  at  the  illustrations,  then 
opened  a  newspaper,  and  shuddering  at  the  new  list 
of  sunstruck  victims,  laid  that  down  also.     After 
bestowing  a  half-contemptuous  smile  on  the  prima 
donna,  who  was   now  serving  up  no  less  a  person 
than  an  Emperor  among  the  list  of  her  love-slain, 
Mrs.  Duncan  drew  from  her  pocket  a  letter  which 
bore  marks  of  having  been  rudely  handled  on  some 
previous   occasion,  as,  before   reading  it,  she  was 
obliged  to  smooth  out  its  many  wrinkles  across  her 
knee.     That  done,  she  read  it — slowly,  carefully, 


The  Flight  of  Summer  Birds.  17 

re-read  it — an  anxious  shade  flitting  across  her  fair 
face  as  she  reached  a  certain  point  on  both  occa 
sions.  Then,  after  a  pause,  with  a  deep  sigh,  she 
returned  it  to  her  pocket.  For  a  moment  she  gazed 
fixedly  out  across  the  waters  as  if  they,  too,  were 
a  written  page  and  she  were  reading  it ;  then  her 
fingers  contracted  nervously  as  if  the  empty  hands 
were  grasping  some  object  they  meant  to  rend,  and 
in  the  triumph  of  this  pantomime  her  lips  were 
wreathed  with  a  smile  of  disdain  which  arrested  the 
attention  of  the  opera  singer,  who  stopped  sud 
denly  in  her  story — wondering  if  that  contemptu 
ous  expression  had  been  evoked  by  the  extremely 
entertaining  episode  of  professional  life  which  she 
was  relating  to  her  admiring  camarades. 

The  boat  touched  shore.  Discourse  was  now  at 
an  end.  There  was  the  usual  well-bred  rush  with 
which  the  Long-Branch-going  world  departs  from 
its  steamboat  and  scrambles  for  its  train.  Every 
man  for  himself.  The  cars  were  loaded  down — 
crowded.  And  this  provoked  an  animated  dis 
cussion  among  the  passengers,  in  which  the  petulant 
query  was  heard:  "Is  not  every  ticket  purchaser 
entitled  to  a  seat  ?  "  Conundrum  for  railroads. 

But  to  stand  is  no  great  hardship,  though  it  be  an 
injustice — for  the  trip  is  short.  Here  are  our  pas 
sengers  arrived  at  their  destination.  This  is  Long 
Branch.  It  looks  scarcely  like  a  habitable  place — 
more  like  a  scene  at  the  theatre  ;  flags  are  flying 
from  flimsy  housetops  ;  long,  white,  bare  wooden 


1 8  The  Flight  of  Summer  Birds. 

hotels  face  the  long,  bare  yellow  sands ;  beyond 
them  the  wide  blue  sea  is  rolling  up  in  thunderous 
waves  which  dash  into  foamy  spray  against  the 
year-by-year  receding  beach.  Bands  are  playing 
light  operatic  airs  in  showily  painted  pagodas  on 
smooth  croquet  lawns  ;  scores  of  carriages  waiting 
for  the  weary,  heat-ridden  toilers  from  town,  al 
most  all  driven  by  ladies,  some  by  children,  are 
drawn  up  in  confused  array  at  the  depot ;  'busses 
from  hotels,  whither  you  are  invited  by  discordant 
roaring  of  stentorian  voices ;  colored  porters  so 
ready  to  seize  whatever  portable  luggage  you  may 
have  with  you  that  you  are  half  inclined  to  resent 
their  action,  mistaking  it  for  high-handed  robbery ; 
and  from  out  this  hurly-burly  a  woman  emerges 
and  lightly  touches  Mrs.  Duncan's  arm. 

A  woman  whose  appearance  contrasted  sharply 
with  that  of  the  lady  she  thus  familiarly  accosted  ; 
a  woman  whom  gallantry  itself  would  never  have 
announced  as  younger  than  forty  ;  with  thin,  brown 
locks,  sprinkled  with  gray,  drawn  down  tightly 
over  her  brow,  combed  behind  her  ears  and  bound 
across  the  head  with  three  narrow  bands  of  rusty 
black-velvet  ribbon,  in  a  style  sometimes  seen  in 
portraits  of  our  grandmothers  in  their  youth,  or  in 
those  of  our  maiden  aunts  who  wore  scratches  thus 
ornamented  ;  deeply  pitted  with  the  small-pox, 
wearing  spectacles  over  half-shut  eyes,  her  dress 
plain,  substantial,  dark,  utterly  unpretentious — it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  guess  whether  this 


The  Flight  of  Summer  Birds.  19 

woman  was  a  rich,  eccentric,  powerful  relation  of 
the  handsome  woman  whom  she  accosted,  or — her 
servant. 

"  I  have  a  carriage  here  for  you,  Mrs.  Duncan," 
said  the  plain  woman. 

"Oh,  have  you,  Marcia  ? "  said  the  lady,  and 
followed  her  lead. 

Seated  in  the  carriage,  they  were  driven  rapidly 
along  the  ocean-bordered  road.  Descending  pres 
ently  at  the  door  of  one  of  the  principal  hotels, 
Mrs.  Duncan  proved  herself  no  more  a  stranger 
here  than  on  the  boat ;  for  gliding  quickly  along 
the  roomy  corridors,  she  entered  without  ceremony 
a  handsome  chamber  from  whose  windows  was  to 
be  seen  a  superb  stretch  of  sea-view. 

Marcia  followed  her  and  was  at  her  side  in  time 
to  receive  the  hat  and  gloves  Mrs.  Duncan  was  on 
the  point  of  impatiently  throwing  down.  That 
done,  she  stooped  to  the  floor  and  began  to  un 
button  the  lady's  boots — forcing  us  at  once  to  the 
conclusion  that  she  was  the  lady's  servant.  Rich 
and  powerful  relations,  however  eccentric,  are  not 
wont  to  perform  such  menial  offices  as  this. 

"I  did  not  know  how  tired  I  was,"  said  Mrs. 
Duncan,  sinking  wearily  upon  a  lounge. 

"  You're  always  tired  when  you  go  to  the  city," 
said  Marcia,  softly  drawing  slippers  on  Mrs.  Dun 
can's  shapely  feet ;  "  I  suppose  it  is  running  about 
those  noisy  streets  in  the  heat  that  tires  you  so." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so ;  "  but  in  saying  this,  Mrs. 


2O  The  Flight  of  Summer  Birds. 

Duncan  sighed  as  one  sighs  who  is  enduring  more 
mental  suffering  than  physical  fatigue. 

"  Try  to  have  a  nap.  You  don't  care  for 
dinner  ?  " 

"  No.  I  dined  in  town.  I'll  try  to  sleep  ;  and 
I'll  have  a  cup  of  tea  when  I  awake." 

Marcia  closed  the  small  folding  shutters  on  the 
inside  of  the  windows,  and  the  lady  on  the  lounge 
closed  the  dark-fringed  shutters  of  her  deep-blue 
eyes.  For  more  than  an  hour  both  women  were 
motionless  ;  hardly  a  sound  was  heard  in  the  still 
ness  of  this  room,  situated  in  a  frequented  corridor 
of  a  Long  Branch  hotel ;  but  at  length  when  the 
low,  regular,  long-drawn  breathing  of  a  sleeper 
broke  the  spell,  then  the  waking  woman,  Marcia — 
never  so  wide  awake  as  when  Mrs.  Duncan  was 
fast  asleep — approached  the  prostrate  form,  and, 
with  a  touch  so  light  that  it  might  have  awakened 
the  admiration  of  the  most  accomplished  pick 
pocket,  had  he  seen  it,  she  possessed  herself  of  the 
letter  Mrs.  Duncan  had  read  and  re-read  on  the 
outward-bound  boat ;  then  kneeling  by  a  chink  in 
the  shutter  where  a  gleam  of  light  entered,  the 
near-sighted  woman  removed  her  spectacles,  and 
with  glowing  eyes  and  bated  breath,  she  mastered 
its  contents. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  SATURDAY  NIGHT'S  MAZE. 

WHILE  death-like  stillness  reigned  in  this  dark 
ened  room,  and  Mrs.  Duncan's  secret — to  guard 
which  was  her  special  care — was  being  devoured 
from  the  crumpled  page  of  the  letter  by  the  one 
utterly  implacable  foe  the  sleeping  woman  had,  and 
in  the  person  of  the  last  creature  on  earth  she  sus 
pected  of  enmity,  scenes  far  more  joyous  were 
being  enacted  in  other  parts  of  the  great  barnlike 
house.  It  was  Saturday ;  that  is  to  say,  the  day 
when  the  city  disgorges  into  contiguous  summer 
haunts  by  stream  and  hill,  ocean  and  woodland, 
all  that  portion  of  its  population  whose  fortune, 
great  or  small,  will  allow  them  to  escape  from  the 
city's  dull  heat,  its  suspended  animation,  for  a  day. 
That  the  whole  city  was  not  depopulated  over 
Sunday  seemed  only  a  question  of  money.  Why 
should  any  one  stay?  Half  the  churches  were 
closed — fashionable  ministers  setting  the  example 
of  going  out  of  town.  The  theatres — bah  !  Thea 
tres  in  midsummer !  the  very  leavings  of  the 
artistic  table  of  the  whole  year.  Painted,  dyed, 


22  A  Saturday  Night's  Maze. 

bepadded,  young-old  women  dancing  clog  jigs  and 
singing  with  shrill,  cracked  voices,  inane  topical 
songs  to  monotonous  tunes  imported  from  European 
beer-halls.  No,  theatres  with  their  summer  bur 
lesques  are  not  powerful  enough  to  keep  free  agents 
away  from  the  music  of  dashing  waves,  the  odors 
of  piney  woods,  the  breezes  of  mountain-tops,  the 
ripple  of  trout-bearing  streams — and  the  Saturday- 
night  hop  !  For  in  spite  of  the  heat,  be  sure  that 
on  Saturday  night,  summer  after  summer  for  un 
counted  years,  youth  will  tread  a  joyous  measure 
in  the  arms  of  youth,  to  tuneful  numbers  amid  rural 
scenes. 

The  flutter  among  young  people  had  not  been 
greater  at  any  time  during  the  season  than  on  this 
particular  Saturday  night.  The  heat  had  not  be 
fore  been  during  the  summer  quite  so  intense, 
and  a  great  crowd  was  expected  ;  a  greater  came. 
All  was  bustle  for  the  evening  festivities.  Hair 
dressers  were  rushing  to  and  fro  along  the  corri 
dors,  trying  to  keep  the  hours  they  had  fixed  for 
appointments  in  the  different  rooms  with  ladies 
young  and  old,  impatient  to  be  adorned.  Maid 
servants  returning  from  the  laundry  with  freshly 
done-up  muslins  were  holding  the  snowy  and  be- 
ruffled  daintinesses  high  in  air,  to  prevent  their 
trailing  over  uncarpeted  halls.  Florists'  boys 
knocked  at  doors  and  delivered  new-blown  roses 
for  new-blown  and  faded  Beauty's  hair  ;  and  tardy 
belles  fretted  and  scolded  alike  hairdressers,  flor- 


A  Saturday  Night's  Maze.  23 

ists'  boys,  and  maid-servants  from  the  laundry,  as 
the  scraping  of  cat-gut  and  the  rattling  of  piano 
keys  announced  the  hop  begun. 

In  a  room  not  far  from  that  occupied  by  Mrs. 
Duncan,  a  young  girl  stood  near  an  elderly  lady 
who  was  pinning  into  the  girl's  loose  light  hair  a 
tiny  moss  rose-bud  whose  twin  was  fastened  at  her 
throat  amid  folds  of  lace.  Her  dress  was  of  the 
finest,  most  vaporous  white  muslin,  trimmed  with 
the  rich  lace  which  formed  a  thick  but  soft  ruff 
about  her  firm  white  throat.  The  glow  of  health 
on  her  cheek  was  painted  in  as  delicate  a  hue  as 
that  on  the  rose's  petals  ;  and  from  under  the 
golden  hair  which  had  scarcely  darkened  a  tinge 
since  her  babyhood,  large  brown  eyes  from  which 
truth  gleamed  in  every  ray,  looked  fondly  in  the 
eyes  which  gazed  at  her  so  proudly. 

"There  won't  be  any  one  there  prettier  than 
you,  Fay — no,  nor  half  so  pretty,"  said  the  elder 
lady,  admiringly. 

"  If  every  one  were  of  my  dear  mother's  opin 
ion,"  answered  the  girl,  playfully  pinching  her 
mother's  cheek  with  soft  thumb  and  finger,  gloved 
in  softest  kid. 

"  Did  Stuart  say  he'd  come  here  for  you  ?  " 

"There  he  is  now,  mamma.  That's  his  knock, 
I  know  it." 

The  elder  lady  opened  the  door,  and  a  young 
man  dressed  in  evening  costume,  dainty  linen 
gloves  of  tender  lavender,  and  with  a  moss  rose 


24  A  Saturday  Night's  Maze. 

bud  stuck  in  a  buttonhole  of  his  coat,  bowed 
with  mock  gravity,  making  a  shield  of  his  hat. 

"Is  Miss  Fay  Underhill  within?"  asked  he, 
pompously. 

"  No,  she's  without,"  said  Fay,  passing  him  and 
standing  in  the  corridor,  "  and  anxious  to  betaken 
downstairs." 

"  Oh,  wait  a  minute,  Fay,"  cried  the  young 
man,  quite  forgetting  his  assumed  gravity.  "  Come 
in  again.  I  want  to  look  at  you." 

She  laughingly  allowed  him  to  draw  her  into 
the  room,  and  turned  herself  round  and  round  that 
he  might  inspect  her  toilet  from  all  points  of 
view. 

"Perfectly  lovely!  "  he  ejaculated.  "I  never 
saw  you  look  half  so  sweet.  Mrs.  Underhill, 
doesn't  she  look  pretty  ?  " 

"  Mustn't  spoil  her,  Stuart,"  said  Mrs.  Under 
hill,  who  had  herself  devoted  the  past  fifteen  years 
to  that  occupation — happily  without  effect. 

While  Stuart  Phelps  was  talking  in  a  low  tone 
of  voice  to  Fay,  Mrs.  Underhill  stepped  into  an 
inner  room  to  get  her  gloves  and  fan. 

"  Now  I'm  ready,"  she  said,  returning. 

"Don't  you  want  this  gas  turned  down,  Mrs. 
Underhill  ? "  Receiving  an  affirmative  answer, 
Stuart  turned  it  completely  off.  Mrs.  Underhill 
was  in  the  corridor.  He  and  Fay  were  alone.  It 
was  dark.  Not  so  dark  but  that  Fay  was  visible, 
a  gleaming  white  figure  ;  not  so  dark  but  that  he 


A  Saturday  Night's  Maze.  25 

found  those  soft  lips,  pink  and  dewy  as  the  moss 
rose-buds  they  both  wore,  and  pressed  his  own 
against  them  with  tender  force,  noiselessly,  but 
with  thrilling  sweetness. 

"  Are  you  coming  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Underbill. 

"  I  didn't  intend  to  turn  it  quite  off,"  said  Stuart, 
coming  up  beside  her  and  walking  between  the 
two  ladies. 

"  I  don't  believe  you,"  whispered  Fay  in  his 
ear. 

These  two  were  engaged  to  be  married.  Fay 
was  eighteen,  and  Stuart  was  seven  years  older. 
They  had  known  each  other  for  many  years, 
played  together,  quarreled,  made  friends  again ; 
then  as  they  grew,  he  into  his  strong  manhood, 
she  into  beauteous  womanhood,  each  had  felt, 
"This  is  the  one  I  love — this  is  the  one  I  wish  to 
marry,"  and  had  said  so,  unhesitatingly.  So  far 
as  human  foresight  was  to  be  relied  upon,  no  hap 
pier,  no  more  suitable  match  could  be  devised. 
Stuart  Phelps  was  a  young  man  of  irreproachable 
habits  and  character,  was  rapidly  earning  a  fortune 
in  honorable  mercantile  life,  and  loved  Fay — oh, 
love  her  !  He  often  said  he  loved  the  ground  she 
walked  on.  He  had  been  known  to  catch  at  her 
dress,  as  she  was  passing,  and  kiss  its  senseless 
hem.  He  carried  her  photograph  in  the  back  of  his 
watch,  and  heroically  refused  to  take  it  out,  though 
the  watchmaker  told  him  it  was  injuring  the  works. 
And  Fay — well,  Fay  said  if  she  didn't  marry 
2 


26  A  Saturday  Night's  Maze. 

Stuart,  she'd  die  an  old  maid  and  then  they'd  be 
sorry.  There  was  not  the  slightest  likelihood  of 
her  dying  an  old  maid,  or  of  their  being  sorry  ; 
for  there  was  no  reason  why  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Un- 
derhill  should  object  to  the  match,  nor  did  they 
do  so. 

They  found  a  great  crowd  on  the  lower  floor 
when  they  descended.  It  was  as  much  as  they 
could  do  to  get  a  peep  in  at  the  door  where  the 
dancing  was  going  on,  and  when  Fay  managed 
to  get  a  glimpse  she  turned  to  Stuart  and  said, 
half  laughing,  half  pouting, 

"  I  declare  it  is  too  absurd  !  Every  night  it's 
like  this.  Those  noisy,  forward  children  get  pos 
session  of  the  floor  and  no  one  can  dance  for  them." 

"I  can't  understand  how  any  mother  can  allow 
her  children  to  behave  as  those  children  are  per 
mitted  to  do,"  said  Mrs.  Underbill,  severely. 

"It  is  the  most  extraordinary  and  unpleasant 
exhibition  I  ever  saw,"  said  an  English  lady  stand 
ing  near.  She  had  been  in  the  house  some  weeks, 
and  the  Underbills  had  formed  acquaintance  with 
her.  Her  husband  and  herself  were  registered  on 
the  hotel  books  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Laidless,  but  they 
were  a  titled  couple — earl  and  countess — who  had 
recently  arrived  in  America.  Their  children — two 
modest  little  girls,  and  an  exceedingly  gentlemanly 
boy  of  about  fourteen — were  never  seen  after  their 
early  tea.  During  the  daytime  they  kept  near 
their  mother,  and  were  always  dressed  with  the 


A  Saturday  Night's  Maze.  27 

utmost  plainness,  wearing  stout  boots,  wide- 
brimmed  hats,  and  clothing  cut  in  childish  fashion, 
without  the  slightest  effort  to  imitate  in  miniature 
the  prevailing  modes  for  men  and  women.  At 
the  table  the  plainest  food  was  chosen  for  them, 
pickles,  rich  gravies,  and  coffee  forming  no  part  of 
these  children's  bill  of  fare. 

It  was  indeed  an  extraordinary  and  unpleasant 
sight  which  the  English  lady  now  condemned. 
For,  crowded  on  the  parlor  floor,  monopolizing 
every  inch  of  dancing  space,  were  two  or  three 
score  children — principally  girls — bedecked  with  a 
sort  of  monkey-like  elegance  whose  sight  caused 
at  once  mirth  and  pain.  The  richest  silks,  of  the 
most  delicate  and  easily  soiled  hues,  ruthlessly  cut 
into  flouncings  and  scallopings  and  panier  over- 
skirts,  and  covered  with  laces  worth  many  times 
their  weight  in  gold,  had  been  hung  on  these  silly 
youngsters  by  their  sillier  mothers.  Silk  hose 
covered  their  lower  limbs,  which  were  exposed  to 
the  knee  ;  boots  of  satin  to  match  the  dress,  or  of 
golden  leather  that  a  drop  of  water  will  tarnish, 
tortured  their  aching  feet.  Every  detail  of  the  toi 
let  of  a  Parisian  woman  of  the  highest  elegance,  or 
of  the  most  doubtful  virtue,  was  here  repeated  ; 
gloves  with  wristlets  reaching  almost  to  the  elbow  ; 
the  latest  fantaisic  in  fans — ah!  crack!  that  one  of 
tortoise  shell  with  brussels  lace  trimmings  was 
broken  just  then  by  that  minx  there  who  struck  a 
boy  across  the  back  with  it  because  he  left  her  and 


28  A  Saturday  Night's  Maze. 

went  to  dance  with  another  minx  ;  that  fan  cost 
forty  dollars,  as  you  will  find  if  you  try  to  buy 
one  like  it  in  Broadway.  It  is  a  beautiful  objet 
— a  thing  for  a  wedding  gift,  or  a  birthday  present 
from  dear  friend  to  dear  friend,  to  be  used  only  on 
grand  occasions,  and  to  be  kept  a  lifetime — nay, 
more  than  one  ;  but  there's  the  end  of  it  now. 
The  minx — (strange  what  ugly  words  are  passed 
from  lip  to  lip  among  the  watching  crowd  of  grown 
persons  looking  at  this  body  of  children,  who,  under 
other  circumstances — for  they  are  at  an  age  when 
if  ever  children  ought  to  be  lovable — would  cer 
tainly  awaken  admiration.  "  Impudent  little 
huzzy!"  "Forward  minx!"  "Ill-bred  little 
animal !  " — pretty  ejaculations  these,  yet  who  shall 
say  they  are  undeserved  ? ) — the  particular  minx 
who  broke  the  fan  was  a  remarkably  stout  girl 
about  twelve  years  old,  whose  fat  body  was  cov 
ered  with  masses  of  costly  finery  from  her  head  to 
her  heels.  Every  day  this  finery  was  changed ; 
even  jewels  were  provided  to  fit  each  costume. 
Her  manners  were  disgustingly  forward  ;  and  Mrs. 
Underhill  declared  that  she  felt  absolute  nausea 
every  time  the  girl  approached  her.  The  wretched 
child's  mother  had  so  little  idea  of  the  beautiful 
modesty  which  should  be  the  ever-present  attend 
ant  of  a  young  girl,  that  she  had  caused  these  rich 
dresses  to  be  cut  decollctc'cs  out  of  all  reason  ;  and 
this,  added  to  the  repulsive  forwardness  of  the  girl's 
manners  and  her  stout  figure,  created  in  the 


A  Saturday  Night's  Maze.  29 

observer's  mind  a  strange  sense  of  impurity ; 
which,  when  you  looked  at  it  soberly,  was  wholly 
incompatible  with  her  youthful  age. 

There  was  a  rule  at  this  hotel  that  children  should 
leave  the  floor  at  nine  o'clock.  Fay  Underhill's  feet 
were  twitching  for  a  waltz  with  Stuart.  Strauss's 
sweetest  strains — those  in  which  by  flowing  melody 
he  embodies  his  idea  of  the  Beautiful  Blue  Danube 
— floated  on  the  air.  "  Oh,  I'm  crazy  to  waltz  !  " 
she  whispered  in  her  lover's  ear.  "  These  children 
will  soon  go,  I  hope,"  he  replied,  in  a  loud  tone, 
that  the  mothers»  might  hear  it.  They  did,  and 
turned  up  their  noses  scornfully  at  him  as  their  only 
answer. 

At  length  the  hotel  manager  was  obliged  to  in 
terfere.  At  ten  o'clock  the  children  were  dragged 
— with  no  little  squalling  and  kicking  of  nurse 
maids— off  the  floor.  "I  won't  go  to  bed!"  "I'll 
slap  you,  you  old  thing  !  "  Oh,  beautiful  speci 
mens  of  American  childhood  and  of  the  admirable 
management  of  a  certain  class  of  American  parents ! 
No  wonder  European  visitors  to  our  country,  who 
are  thrown  in  contact  with  the  choicest  vulgarians 
of  our  race,  at  the  chief  places  of  resort  for  tourists, 
should  get  so  poor  an  opinion  of  American  children. 

At  last  Fay  got  her  waltz.  Resting  blissfully  in 
her  chosen  one's  arms,  she  seemed  to  soar  through 
space  to  the  music  of  flutes,  angelically  played  by 
obliging  mortals.  Enjoy  your  waltz,  dear,  inno 
cent  Fay,  while  you  can.  Youth  passes  with  its 


30  A  Saturday  Nights  Maze. 

bright  illusions  ;  and  the  fullness  of  time  brings 
bitter  knowledge. 

The  waltz  ended,  and  Stuart  escorted  Fay  out 
side  upon  the  wide  piazza  surrounding  the  house. 
The  moon  had  risen,  and  shot  down  its  silver  on 
the  rippling  sea,  which  was  sending  up  unceasingly 
its  foamy  surf  upon  the  sandy  shore.  Arm  in  arm 
the  lovers  clung  together.  The  piazza  was  crowded 
with  a  joyous  throng.  Music  came  from  within. 
Peals  of  laughter  rang  out.  Ah,  youth  and  joy, 
these  hours  were  made  for  you  !  Rippling  waters, 
moon-glorious  heavens,  love  in  your  hearts,  no 
sins  yet  committed,  sorrow  still  unborn — but  the 
hour  may  come  when  the  waters  will  be  lashed 
by  furious  storms,  when  black  clouds  will  hide  the 
moon's  silvery  sphere,  when  love  will  change  to 
hate,  innocence  to  sin,  and  sorrow,  clad  in  sack 
cloth,  sit  at  your  thresholds. 

"There!  ti-tum-ti-ti  !  That's  the  Lancers. 
Come  in,  Fay,  and  dance  the  Lancers,"  cried  Stu 
art,  brushing  through  the  crowd  with  his  sweet 
heart  on  his  arm.  At  the  door  by  which  they  en 
tered  was  standing  a  dark,  foreign-looking  lady 
wearing  a  great  quantity  of  diamonds  and  a  bright 
yellow-satin  dress.  "  Look  at  this  big  sunflower," 
whispered  Stuart,  and  then  he  hummed  in  Fay's 
ear  Brudder  Bones's  song,  "  Oh  I'm  just  as  happy 
as  a  Big  Sunflower  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  this  yellow-satin  sunflower  with 
diamonds  is  happy  ?  "  asked  Fay,  laughing. 


A  Saturday  Night's  Maze.  31 

As  they  approached  nearer,  they  heard  her  de 
clare  herself  so.  Not  in  the  best  English,  to  be 
sure ;  but  she  was  intelligible,  as  she  assured 
Meestare  Weegans  that  she  never  was  more  happy 
than  when  to  make  his  acquaintance. 

"  Meestare  Weegans  "  was  N.  B.  Wiggins,  Esq., 
of  Oshkosh — Take  Notice  Wiggins,  the  facetious 
Westerners  called  him.  What  those  initials  stood 
for,  if  not  Nota  Bene,  no  one  knew,  for  it  was  thus 
he  always  signed  himself.  Some  mutual  friend 
had  brought  about  this  introduction  to  the  opera- 
singer,  whom  Wiggins  had  admired  when  he  first 
laid  eyes  upon  her  on  the  boat.  The  remainder 
of  the  evening  he  stood  by  her  side,  entranced  by 
the  eloquence  of  her  broken  English,  and  by  the 
dark  flashes  of  her  sparkling  black  eyes,  which  had 
— there  was  no  doubt  about  it — already  done  great 
havoc  in  the  hearts  of  many  men.  Furiously 
jealous  was  Mr.  Wiggins  when  she  turned  to  speak, 
in  a  language  which  he  could  not  understand,  to  the 
men  of  her  own  profession — who  formed  a  back 
ground  of  black  cloth,  white  ties  and  ditto  gloves, 
to  the  vivid  yellow  of  her  rustling  gown  ;  and 
obliged  to  acknowledge  to  himself,  was  Mr.  Wig 
gins,  at  the  close  of  the  evening,  that  not  only  was 
she  a  stunner,  but  she  was  "By  jings,  sir,  the 
finest  woman — yes,  sir,  the  finest  woman,  by  jings  " 
— the  "Sir "whom  he  addressed  being  Sir  Air, 
or  else  Sir  Wiggins  himself. 

"  There's  a  place,  Fay,  side  couple  ;  see  !  "  and 


32  A  Saturday  Nighfs  Maze. 

Stuart  scudded  across  the  floor  with  Fay  still 
closely  tucked  under  his  arm.  They  were  just  in 
time,  and  another  couple  walked  off  as  Fay  and 
Stuart  stepped  into  the  only  remaining  vacant 
space.  It  was  young  Randolph  Cabell,  the  newly 
married  Southerner  we  saw  on  the  boat,  who  with 
his  pretty  bride  had  lost  the  dance.  They  took 
the  disappointment  with  perfect  good  nature,  and 
shortly  afterward  retired. 

"What  a  splendid-looking  woman  this  is  oppo 
site  us,  Stuart,"  said  Fay,  in  one  of  the  intervals 
of  repose  during  the  quadrille.  "  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

"Oh,  this  one  right  opposite?  yes,  rather — I 
was  looking  at  her.  Jove,  isn't  she  gorgeously 
got  up  ?  Tell  you  what  it  is,  Fay,  she's  one  of 
those  little  girls  grown  up,  expanded  in  every  way, 
gorgeous  '  fixings  '  and  all." 

Fay  smiled,  and  as  she  did  so  she  turned  her 
eyes  in  the  direction  of  an  inner  door.  The  crowd 
had  greatly  thinned  out,  as  it  was  near  the  an 
nounced  hour  for  the  music  to  cease,  and  now  in 
stead  of  elegant  ladies  and  gentlemen,  a  number  of 
female  servants  were  standing  in  the  doorways 
looking  on  at  the  dancers.  Among  these  was 
Marcia,  her  whole  appearance  so  different  from 
that  of  the  servants  near  her,  that,  spite  of  her 
pitted  face,  her  spectacled  eyes  and  her  plain  dress 
— for  the  dress  mania  extended  to  the  servants,  and 
panier  skirts,  and  flounces,  and  sashes,  were  frc- 


A  Saturday  Night's  Maze.  33 

quentlyto  be  seen  among  them — this  quiet  woman 
looked  as  if  she  might  be  a  mistress,  not  a  maid. 

Stuart  Phelps  had  observed  the  gorgeous  lady 
before  Fay  spoke.  It  was  Mrs.  Duncan.  His  at 
tention  had  been  attracted  to  herself,  by  the  ex 
pressive  gaze  she  turned  on  him  as  soon  as  he 
entered  the  quadrille.  He  was  about  to  bow  to 
her,  thinking  he  must  have  met  her  somewhere  be 
fore,  but  the  more  he  looked  at  her,  the  more  con 
vinced  he  became  that  this  was  the  first  time  he 
had  ever  seen  her.  Still,  her  deep  blue  eyes  were 
again  and  again  turned  on  his  face  with  a  look  in 
which  admiration  was  so  plainly  to  be  read,  that  if 
all  had  not  been  engrossed  in  the  pleasure  of  the 
dance  they  must  have  observed  it ;  and  Fay,  occu 
pied  with  the  partner  of  whose  partnership  for  life 
she  felt  so  sure,  was  gliding  through  the  measure, 
keeping  joyous  time  to  the  music  with  her  head 
and  heart  and  feet. 

Every  one  knows  the  last  set  of  the  Lancers  ; 
how  every  man  starts  off  to  his  left,  clasps  hands 
with  each  lady  he  meets,  bows  profoundly  to  his 
own,  and  then  begins  the  whole  thing  over  again. 
This  is  gone  through  with  four — or  is  it  eight  ? — 
times  ;  and  each  time  that  Stuart  Phelps  clasped 
the  hand  of  the  gorgeous  lady,  he  was  sure  he  felt 
her  fingers  cling  a  little  to  his  own,  before  they 
separated.  For  once  or  twice  he  doubted  the  truth 
of  this — thought  he  might  be  mistaken  ;  and  each 
time  it  became  so  much  more  marked,  that  his 
2* 


34  A  Saturday  Night's  Maze. 

theory  of  being  mistaken  was  proved  to  be  itself  a 
mistake.  Finally  the  last  hand-joining  was  upon 
them.  Stuart's  heart  quite  fluttered.  Nonsense, 
only  a  joke  !  Their  hands  meet — her  fingers  press 
his  in  a  way  that  cannot  be  mistaken  ;  her  deep 
blue  eyes  dwell  on  his  manly  young  face  ;  he  looks 
fairly  at  her — feels  the  pressure  of  her  soft  fingers, 
sees  the  look  in  her  eyes — drops  his  own  under  so 
steady  a  gaze — but  holds  her  hand  so  long  that  he 
misses  the  next  partner — and  becomes  confused. 

The  pitted  woman,  Marcia,  standing  at  the  door, 
takes  off  her  glasses,  wipes  them,  peers  forward  an 
instant  with  wide-open  eyes,  then  replaces  her 
spectacles,  and  when,  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
panting  breast,  Mrs.  Duncan  finishes  the  dance, 
with  some  solicitude  her  servant  advances  and 
throws  a  rich  cape  over  her  shoulders  to  prevent 
her  taking  cold. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  SHRIEK  AT  SEA. 

THE  white  flag  flying  at  eleven  the  next  morn 
ing,  announced  bathing  to  be  safe.  With  the  sun 
pouring  down  fiercely,  a  wind  from  the  south,  hot 
and  dry  as  a  simoom,  the  knowledge  that  he  had 
not  had  a  sea-bath  for  nearly  a  week  (for  he  had 
been  called  to  town  every  day  lately  by  business, 
leaving  the  Branch  before  the  bathing-hour),  need 
I  ask  an  excuse  for  Stuart  Phelps  for  his  Sunday 
bathing  ?  But  Mrs.  Underhill  refused  to  excuse 
him. 

"  You  ought  to  have  gone  to  church,"  said  she, 
reprovingly. 

"  Oh,  I'll  go  twice  next  Sunday  to  make  up  for 
it ;  that  is,  if  I'm  not  in  town,"  replied  Stuart ; 
"  my  church  in  town  is  closed.  It  will  open  when 
the  opera  does,  I  suppose.  It'll  be  '  the  season  ' 
then." 

"Hush,  Stuart,  such  nonsense!"  said  Mrs. 
Underhill,  more  reprovingly  than  ever. 

"  It's  as  true  as  gospel,"  persisted  the  young 
man.  "  Our  minister  goes  to  the  White  Mountains 
with  regularity  and  dispatch  every  July.  And 


36  A  Shriek  at  Sea. 

half  the  time  when  the  church  isn't  closed  he  lets 
some  egregious  muff  occupy  the  pulpit  and  preach 
such  stuff  as  would  disgust  an  intelligent  monkey." 

"  I  won't  listen  to  such  wicked  talk,"  said  Mrs. 
Underhill,  turning  away. 

"It  is  too  bad  you  have  to  go  to  town  every 
day,  Stuart,"  said  Fay,  in  a  sympathetic  tone. 

"  I  shan't  go  to-morrow,"  he  replied.  "Tues 
day  morning  will  do  for  once." 

So  on  Monday  morning,  at  the  bathing  hour, 
Stuart  made  one  of  the  lively,  bustling  crowd  that 
gathered  on  the  beach. 

As  usual,  the  children  were  in  force.  Some  of 
these  were  quite  at  home  in  the  water,  and  proved 
as  insolent  and  self-asserting  there  as  in  the  ball 
room  ;  others  were  afraid  of  it,  and  shrilly  shrieked 
as  they  were  dragged  into  the  surf.'  "  You  must 
come  in  !  It  will  do  you  good  !  "  cried  a  mother, 
dragging  a  trembling  little  girl  of  seven  into  the 
water.  Good  !  Such  a  shock  to  such  a  nature 
were  enough  to  do  a  harm  that  would  last  a  life 
time. 

Mrs.  Laidless,  the  English  lady,  spoke  of  it  to 
Mrs.  Underhill.  "  I  am  convinced  that  excitement 
of  every  kind  is  injurious  to  children.  Their 
pleasures  as  well  as  their  pains  should  be  tempered 
as  much  as  possible.  Better  that  that  delicate 
child  should  never  know  the  bracing  effect  of  a  sea- 
bath  than  that,  in  the  effort  to  obtain  it,  she  should 
do  violence  to  every  instinct  in  her  timid  nature." 


A  Shriek  at  Sea.  37 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Underbill, 
and  went  on  to  further  comment  in  a  wise  and 
thoughtful  strain. 

The  good  mothers,  talking  in  this  sort,  were 
suddenly  interrupted  by  a  loud  chattering  in  a  for 
eign  tongue.  Turning,  they  saw  the  prima  donna, 
Madame  Pittaluga,  who  had  arrived  the  Saturday 
before,  now  arrayed  in  a  bathing  suit  of  brilliant- 
hued  flannels,  and  looking,  it  must  be  confessed, 
the  reverse  of  poetical.  When  attired  in  the  rich 
trappings  of  the  stage,  with  flowing  velvet  robes, 
queenly  crown,  and  imperial  ermine,  Madame  Pit 
taluga  was  no  doubt  a  stately  figure,  in  spite  of — 
or  perhaps  because  of— her  two  hundred  pounds 
avoirdupois  ;  and  even  in  the  drawing-room  she 
managed,  with  the  help  of  rich  jewels,  costly  laces, 
and  skillful  drapery,  to  preserve  a  somewhat  simi 
lar  style  of  contour  ;  but  on  the  sands  !  in  a  parti 
colored  bathing  dress  !  Let  us  forget  La  Fitta- 
luga's  figure,  and  dwell  upon  her  face.  A  pretty 
face,  beyond  cavil — black  eyes,  small,  red  lips,  and 
a  little  dash  of  the  same  color  tinging  her  cheeks — 
the  ill-natured  said  artificial  in  both  cases — a  clear 
olive  complexion,  and  a  profusion  of  black  hair, 
soft  and  glossy,  and  which  in  one  light  had  that 
superb  purple  tint  seen  only  rarely,  and  without 
which  a  woman  may  not  be  termed  a  perfect  bru 
nette  ;  these  beauties  were  undeniably  Madame 
Pittaluga's.  Her  features  were  small,  and  both 
her  small  face  and  her  small  manners  seemed  as  if 


38  A  Shriek  at  Sea. 

they  should  belong  to  a  body  which  would  cer 
tainly  not  tip  the  scale  at  over  a  hundred  pounds  ; 
some  pert  little  French  soubrette,  giving  the  saucy 
r'eplique  to  her  dignified  mistress  in  the  comedy  ; 
the  very  features  you  would  expect  to  find  under 
the  mask  of  some  fascinating  Titi  or  Debardeur 
whom  you  had  seen  led  away  from  a  Paris  masked 
ball,  to  sup  at  the  Cafe"  Anglais.  It  was  quite 
true  that  one  of  the  lordliest  of  English  lords,  and 
one  of  the  princeliest  of  Russian  princes,  had  for  a 
season  been  madly  enamoured  of  La  Pittaluga,  but 
— neither  had  ever  seen  her  in  a  Long  Branch 
bathing  dress ! 

Acting  under  the  belief,  which  in  the  main  was 
true,  that  bright  colors  best  suited  her  complexion, 
Madame  Pittaluga  had  provided  herself  with  a 
flannel  bathing  dress  wherein  yellows  and  reds 
were  made  even  more  glaringly  prominent  by 
bands  and  bedizenments  of  white  braid  set  on 
tunic  and  trowsers  in  the  absurd  idea  of  adorning 
them.  Her  waist  was  of  that  size  which  caused 
the  sewing-girl  who  made  the  bathing  dress  to  say 
of  it  privately,  "  It  made  a  yard  measure  look 
sick."  It  certainly  made  Madame  Pittaluga  look 
healthy. 

The  prima  donna  stood  on  the  beach  and  looked 
at  the  bathers  with  evident  delight.  She  was  ac 
companied  by  the  tenor  of  the  troupe,  and  the 
chattering  that  Mrs.  Underbill  and  Mrs.  Laidless 
had  heard  was  caused  by  the  voices  of  the  lady 


A  Shriek  at  Sea.  39 

and  the  gentleman  in  amicable  dispute.  It  was 
evident  that  Madame  Pittaluga  desired  the  tenor 
to  enter  the  water;  but  he,  dressed  with  scrupu 
lous  finish  in  the  latest  fashion,  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  vehemently,  and  replied  in  liquid  Italian 
vowels  to  the  effect  that  nothing  could  induce  him 
to  make  himself  a  fright,  or  be  dashed  about  by 
the  turbulent  surf. 

Just  as  Madame  Pittaluga  had  made  up  her  mind 
to  rush  in  alone,  a  man  approached  her,  so  strange 
a  figure  in  his  bathing  dress,  that  the  Italian 
woman,  seeing  that  he  was  about  to  address  her, 
looked  at  him  in  surprise,  for  the  idea  that  she  had 
ever  before  spoken  to  him  did  not  for  a  moment 
occur  to  her.  It  was  not  until  he  spoke  that  a 
glimmering  of  his  identity  crossed  her  mind. 

Mr.  N.  B.  Wiggins  was  as  long  and  lean  as 
Madame  Pittaluga  was  short  and  stout ;  and  while 
her  dress,  in  ill  taste  though  it  was,  had  neverthe 
less  been  manufactured  and  donned  with  the  great 
est  care,  his  costume  was  composed  of  a  shirt  and 
trousers  long  beaten  and  faded  into  colorless  limp 
ness,  stretched  in  this  place,  shrunk  in  that,  and 
hired  for  the  occasion  for  fifty  cents  from  the  bath 
ing  master.  Mr.  Wiggins  stood  six  feet  in  his 
bony  stockinglessness  on  the  hot  beach,  his  bash- 
fulness  before  the  woman  whose  sparkling  eyes  had 
captivated  him,  finding  some  relief  apparently  in 
the  exercise  of  digging  his  toes  into  the  sands, 
which  were  cool  and  grateful  an  inch  below  the 


4o  A  Shriek  at  Sea. 

surface.  His  trowsers  much  too  short,  a  bit  of  new 
rope  tied  around  his  waist,  and  a  huge  straw  hat 
which  had  struggled  with  the  winds  and  tides  of 
many  a  busy  summer,  tied  under  his  chin  with  a 
piece  of  coarse,  red  braid — such  was  the  captivat 
ing  ensemble  Mr.  Wiggins  presented,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  lady  who  was  in  his  opinion  a  stunner. 
"  Goin'  to  indulge  ?  "  asked  he,  with  a  grin. 
"  Yas,"  she  replied  with,  as  Mr.  Wiggins 
thought,  a  bewitching  accent,  "  I  am  going  into 
the  dulge." 

"  They  say  the  water  is  first-rate  this  mornin'," 
he  continued.  "  Ef  you'll  grab  ahold  o'  my  hand, 
I'll  run  you  right  under  this  here  wave  that's  a 
coming  in.  No  !  Too  late  !  There  she  comes. 
Look  out  for  soapsuds,  young  man  !  " 

The  young  man  being  the  dainty  tenor,  and  the 
soapsuds  being  the  foam  which  flung  its  scamper 
ing  fingers  up  on  the  beach  a  "  Per  dio  !  "  and  a 
rush  shorewards  from  the  former,  did  not  prevent 
the  latter  from  bespattering  his  polished  boots  ; 
whereupon,  muttering  something  about  a  thousand 
sacred  devils,  shrugging  his  shoulders  at  the  sea, 
which  really  seemed  not  to  mind  it,  the  tenor 
touched  his  hat  to  Mr.  Wiggins,  bowed  gracefully 
to  Madame,  and  sauntered  away  in  the  direction 
of  the  hotel. 

"  He  ain't  agoin"  in,  is  he  ?  "  asked  Wiggins  of 
the  lady.  "Won't  wash,  eh?  Colors  run,  per 
haps.  Some  goods  is  putty  to  look  at,  but  they 


A  Shriek  at  Sea.  41 

won't  stand  the  wash-tub.  He's  them,  eh?  Not 
fast  colors,  is  he  ?  " 

To  the  which  intelligible  jargon,  reminiscent  of 
his  career  as  a  dry-goods  merchant,  Madame 
nodded  her  head  with  frequent  smiles,  and  said 
"  yas "  six  times,  not  understanding  a  word  of 
what  he  was  saying. 

Leaving  them  to  enter  the  sea — which  Madame 
did  with  a  little  shriek,  speedily  clutching  the 
safety  rope,  and  clinging  to  it  with  the  tenacity  of 
a  drowning  person,  in  spite  of  the  invitations  of  N. 
B.  Wiggins  to  "strike  out  a  little" — your  eye 
for  the  picturesque  may  be  gratified  by  observing 
Stuart  Phelps  and  Fay  Underhill.  Reposing  on 
the  beach  before  plunging  into  the  sea,  Fay  sits 
holding  a  bucket  and  spade  which  belong  to  a 
little  girl  who  is  tired  of  playing  with  them  for  the 
moment,  and  Stuart  stretched  at  full  length,  is 
amusing  himself  by  imbedding  his  hands  in  the 
sand — that  plaything  for  old  and  young,  babies 
and  graybeards,  at  the  seaside.  Fay's  dress  is  as 
pretty  as  the  hideous  Bloomer  costume  can  ever 
be,  Stuart's  is  only  another  of  bathing  master 
Sam's  choice  collection,  no  more  graceful  than 
that  Mr.  Wiggins  wears  ;  but  youth  and  beauty 
may  defy  the  most  ungraceful  cut  and  the  most 
faded  hues  ;  and  so  in  spite  of  their  attire  these 
young  people  look  almost  as  well  as  they  did  the 
other  night  in  the  ball-room. 

"  Stuart,"  said  Fay,  "  you  remember  that  fine- 


42  A  Shriek  at  Sea. 

looking  woman  we  noticed  Saturday  night?  the 
one  who  danced  opposite  us  in  the  Lancers  ?  " 

Just  the  least  heightening  of  color  in  Stuart 
Phelps's  face,  Fay  might  have  seen  had  she  looked 
for  it ;  but  she  did  not.  Why  should  she  ever 
dream  of  such  a  thing  as  that  Stuart  Phelps  should 
blush  at  mention  of  another  woman  ? 

"  Yes,  I  know  who  you  mean,"  he  said,  slowly, 
seeing  she  waited  for  a  reply. 

"  Do  you  know  who  she  is  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least  idea." 

"  Some  of  the  ladies  were  talking  about  her  this 
morning,  and  wondering  who  she  is.  No  one 
knows.  No  one  ever  knew  her  before  ;  no  one 
ever  knew  any  one  who  knew  her." 

"  What  a  lot  of  knews,  Fay  ;  a  regular  ungram- 
matical  knowed  would  be  a  positive  relief." 

"  Oh  dear,  you  needn't  encourage  me  to  be  un- 
grammatical !  I  am  so  often  enough." 

"  And  what  about  the  lady  ?  " 

"Why  nothing  about  her.  Nobody  knows — I 
declare  I  was  going  to  say  nobody  knows  nothing 
—so  you  see  what  you  get  by  telling  me  to  be 
ungrammatical. " 

"  What's  the  lady's  name  ?  "  asked  Stuart,  keep 
ing  to  the  subject  in  hand  more  closely  than  Fay  did. 

"  Her  name  is  Mrs.  Duncan.  She  is  from  the 
West  somewhere,  no  one  knows  exactly  where. 
What  a  vague  place  that  West  is  !  It's  so  enor 
mously  large." 


A  Shriek  at  Sea.  43 

"Yes.  Taking  Long  Branch  as  our  point  of 
departure,  you  may  say  the  West  stretches  from 
Sandy  Hook  to  San  Francisco." 

"  Three  thousand  miles  !  Three  thousand  enor 
mous  miles  in  which  are  cities,  towns,  villages, 
farms,  inhabited  by  bright,  wide-awake,  intelligent, 
reading  people, — and  room  for  double  as  many 
more  besides." 

"  Great  country  !  " 

"And  somewhere  in  this  great  country  was 
born  and  reared  Mrs.  Duncan,"  said  Fay. 

' '  But  not  born  Mrs.  Duncan ;  born  Miss — what  ?  " 

"  No  one  knows  who  she  was  before  marriage, 
or  who  afterwards,  for  that  matter.  Cornelia 
Cornwallis  says  it  is  best  not  to  notice  her  in  the 
least  until  we  know  who  she  is.  But  I  think  that's 
too  severe.  I  shall  speak  to  her  if  I  feel  inclined, 
and  the  occasion  offers." 

"  You're  a  dear  girl,  Fay,  so  good  yourself,  you 
never  think  of  harm  in  others." 

"  Thanks  for  that  bit  of  praise,  Stuart.  But  I 
do  sincerely  dislike  those  croakers  who  are  con 
tinually  wondering  if  this  person  is  quite  the  thing, 
and  if  so  and  so's  pedigree  is  all  right.  As  if  any 
body  in  this  country  had  a  pedigree  in  the  ac 
cepted  sense  of  the  term  !  The  only  pedigree  any 
of  us  can  have,  or  need  care  to  have,  is  a  record  of 
personal  good  behavior." 

"Perhaps  that's  the  very  thing  they  require  in 
Mrs.  Duncan,"  said  Stuart. 


44  A  Shriek  at  Sea. 

"  It  may  be  so.  Yet  if  Mrs.  Duncan  were  a 
man,  well-dressed,  good-looking  and  evidently 
rich,  there's  not  a  lady  here  who  would  not  think 
well  of  him,  and  not  trouble  herself  to  ask  who  he 
was  beforehand." 

"What,  Fay  Underhill  on  the  woman's-rights 
war-path !  " 

"  Never  you  mind,  sir.  I'm  too  young  for  my 
words  to  have  any  great  weight  on  such  subjects, 
but  when  I  get  to  be  forty  and  have  the  dignity  of 
that  age,  then  you'll  see  what  Fay  Underhill  can 
do."  i; 

"  In  the  first  place  Fay  Underhill  will  at  the  age 
of  forty  be  Fay  Underhill  no  longer,  but  Mrs. 
Stuart  Phelps,  wife  of  the  undersigned,  comfort 
ably  fat,  rosy,  happy,  and  contented,  and  with  all 
the  rights  she  wants." 

Now  this  girl  loved  this  man  so  fondly  that  if 
he  had  said  that  at  the  age  of  forty  she  would  be 
blind  of  one  eye,  deaf  in  an  ear,  and  lame  of  a 
leg,  she  would  have  thought  the  picture  not  alto 
gether  unpleasing — that  is,  if  he  had  said  he  liked 
these  features  in  a  woman.  So  the  thought  of 
being  at  forty  nobody  other  than  Mrs.  Stuart 
Phelps,  "  comfortably  fat  " — when  she  always  as 
sociated  fat  with  discomfort — "rosy,  happy,  and 
contented,  and  with  all  the  rights  she  wanted," 
seemed  to  her  loving  heart  to  be  the  very  pinnacle 
of  womanly  glory. 

He  arose  and  extended  his  hand,  and  she  sprang 


A  Shriek  at  Sea.  45 

to  her  feet,  and  briskly  running  into  the  surf,  both 
cried  out  with  delight  as  the  foamy  spray  flung  its 
froth  above  their  heads. 

"  Isn't  this — f — fun  !  "  cried  Fay,  gasping  for 
breath. 

But  Stuart  was  off.  Too  good  a  swimmer  to 
stay  by  the  rope  where  Fay  and  Madame  Pittaluga 
timidly  disported  themselves,  he  struck  out  upon 
the  blue  waves  in  a  manner,  to  Fay's  mind,  fraught 
with  peril.  Poor  little  Fay  looked  anxiously  after 
him  as  now  diving  beneath  the  water,  now  rising 
to  the  surface,  he  put  yard  after  yard  between  her 
self  and  him. 

"Isn't  it  dangerous  out  there?"  she  timidly 
asked  of  the  bathing  master,  Sam,  who  was  hold 
ing  a  little  girl  by  the  shoulders  and  floating  her 
about  to  her  infinite  delight. 

"  If  you  can't  swim  it  is,"  he  replied,  laconi 
cally. 

"  Oh,  he  can  swim,"  she  said,  more  to  herself 
than  to  any  one  else. 

"Is  that  Mr.  Phelps  out  there,  Fay?"  asked 
Mrs.  Barham,  a  lady  of  half  a  century,  who  wanted 
to  pass  for  half  that. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Barham;  doesn't  he  swim  splen 
didly  !  "  answered  Fay,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  should  think  he'd  prefer  to 
stay  by  you,  however." 

Mrs.  Barham  never  failed  to  say  a  galling  thing 
to  her  friends  and  acquaintances  when  she  could. 


46  A  Shriek  at  Sea. 

A  woman  of  fifty  who  thinks  she  looks  no  more 
than  twenty-five,  and  wants  the  flatteries  and 
attentions  that  age  commands,  could  never  quite 
forgive  Fay  Underhill  for  being  only  eighteen. 

In  another  direction  a  swimmer  who  had  vent 
ured  out  even  farther  than  Stuart  was  to  be  seen. 
Everybody  wondered  who  it  was. 

"  I  don't  know  how  people  can  be  so  reckless," 
said  Mrs.  Barham,  tartly.  "I'm  sure  I  wouldn't 
go  off  there  for  anything." 

"  But  you  can't  swim,  Mrs.  Barham,"  said  Fay, 
gently. 

"  I  suppose  I  could  if  I  tried,"  answered  the 
elder  lady,  clutching  tightly  to  the  rope  as  she 
spoke. 

"There's  mamma  waving  her  handkerchief  to 
me,"  said  Fay;  "  I  suppose  she  means  for  me  to 
come  out.  Why,  I  haven't  been  in  ten  minutes." 

Madame  Pittaluga  now  scrambled  up  the  bank 
with  N.  B.  Wiggins  closely  following  her.  An 
unceremonious  wave  struck  them  in  the  back  and 
sent  them  sprawling  on  the  beach. 

"  Queer  fish,  those!"  said  Mrs.  Barham,  con 
temptuously. 

Mrs.  Barham,  besides  her  fifty  years,  had  a  fort 
une  of  fifty  thousand  a  year  (or  such  was  the  re 
port),  and  in  her  veins  ran  blood  which  she  consid 
ered  bluer  than  any  Castilian's.  There  was  a  Lord 
Barham  in  England  whom  she  claimed  as  near 
akin  to  her  ;  and  as  his  lordship  had  never  come 


A  Shriek  at  Sea.  47 

over  here  to  dispute  her  assertion,  and  no  one  had 
ever  taken  the  trouble  to  go  over  there  and  ask 
him  if  it  was  true,  she  got  full  credit  for  the  rela 
tionship — among  the  credulous. 

"  The  lady  has  a  lovely  voice,"  said  Fay.  "  I 
heard  her  running  the  scales  this  morning." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"Madame  Pittaluga,  the  new  prima  donna.  I 
am  going  to  hear  her  the  very  first  night  she 
sings." 

Here  Mrs.  Underhill  shook  her  parasol  at  her 
tardy  daughter,  and  Fay  began  to  wade  out. 
Her  feet  sank  deeply  in  the  wet  sands  and  her 
dripping  dress  seemed  to  weigh  a  hundred  pounds  ; 
but  she  got  dry  foothold  at  last,  and  was  scamper 
ing  towards  her  bath-house  when  she  heard  a  dis 
tant  scream. 

That  far-off  swimmer  they  had  noticed  was  in 
distress.  Another  scream,  fainter  than  the  first — 
then  Fay  saw  her  lover  wheel  about  in  the  water 
and  with  rapid  strokes  cut  his  way  to  the  drown 
ing  person  ;  sinking  for  the  third  time  when  Stuart 
Phelps  clutched  the  insensible  form  !  The  bath 
ing  master  struck  out  now  to  help  both. 

No  matter.  "  All  right !  "  shouted  Stuart,  with 
a  cheery  voice  which  made  Fay's  heart,  chilled  to 
the  core  with  fright,  dance  like  a  freed  bird.  On 
he  came,  straight  for  the  shore,  bearing  his  bur 
den. 

They   strike   the    beach.      The   crowd  gathers 


48  A  Shriek  at  Sea. 

around,  eagerly  staring.  The  lazy  loungers  in  the 
summer-houses  upon  the  cliff  come  streaming 
down  upon  the  sands  to  stare  too,  and  mingle 
their  careful  toilets  with  the  wild  deshabilles  which 
emerge  from  the  bath-houses — wildest  among 
whom  is  N.  B.  Wiggins,  clad  only  in  shirt  and 
trowsers,  his  yard-long  suspenders  flapping  at  his 
heels. 

The  inanimate  form  of  the  saved  person  is  cast 
upon  the  beach,  the  bathing  master  aiding,  and 
for  a  moment  Stuart  drops  on  the  sands  exhausted. 

"Who  is  it?"  many  tongues  ask,  from  the 
outer  edges  of  the  crowd. 

"  A  woman,"  says  one  of  the  inner  circle. 

"  A  woman  !  "  chorus  the  many  tongues,  in 
delighted  amazement  at  such  a  romantic  incident. 

"Who?" 

"  Ah  yes — who  is  she  ?  " 

Stuart  lifted  himself  up  at  this,  as  eager  as  any 
to  know  who  the  lady  was  he  had  had  the  honor 
of  saving  from  a  watery  grave — for  he  had  not 
looked  in  her  face  as  yet. 

Mrs.  Duncan  at  this  moment  opened  her  blue 
eyes  wearily  and  looked  about  her.  "  Where  am 
I  ?  "  she  said,  with  an  originality  of  remark  which 
was  quite  overlooked  in  the  excitement  of  the  mo-, 
ment. 

"  She  is  recovering,"  whispered  one.  "  You  are 
safe  now,"  said  another."  "  You  were  drowning," 
explained  a  third,  as  if  encouraged  to  tell  all,  now 


A  Shriek  at  Sea.  49 

that  the  ice  had  been  broken,  "when  this  gentle 
man  went  out  and  rescued  you."  He  led  Stuart 
forward,  dripping  but  handsome. 

Mrs.  Duncan  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  spoke 
far  more  than  simple  gratitude. 

"  You  saved  my  life  !"  she  said. 

Stuart  bowed. 

That  odious  Mrs.  Barham  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders  at  this  scene — but  Mrs.  Barham  was  of  a  most 
unfortunate  disposition,  as  has  already  been  clearly 
shown,  and  quite  capable  of  envying  Mrs.  Duncan 
the  felicity  of  having  been  saved  by  so  handsome  a 
fellow  as  Stuart  Phelps.  "  If  the  woman  is  such  a 
famous  swimmer,"  said  Mrs.  Barham,  and  here  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders  again  more  emphatically 
than  before,  "  I  don't  wish  to  be  severe,  I'm  sure, 
but  certainly  she  chose  a  most  auspicious  moment 
for  her  drowning  scene,  if  it  was  her  purpose  to  be 
saved  by  young  Phelps." 

Meantime  Mrs.  Duncan  had  been  wrapped  in 
warm  blankets  and  conveyed  to  the  hotel,  while 
Stuart  quickly  went  into  his  bath-house  to  doff  his 
wet  dress. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Barham  in  conclusion,  "I 
suppose  the  woman  will  be  somebody  now.  At 
these  vulgar  watering-places  an  adventure  of  that 
sort  is  as  good  a  passport  to  acquaintance  as  an  in 
troduction  from  a  marquis." 

This  was  Mrs.  Barham's  opinion  merely. 
3 


CHAPTER  V. 
A  "BRANCH"  DINNER. 

IT  may  fairly  be  doubted  whether  at  Long 
Branch  dinner  is  the  great  event  of  the  day.  This 
used  to  be  said  of  Niagara,  and  it  was  not  flatter 
ing.  But,  after  all,  a  waterfall  is  only  a  waterfall, 
and  when  you  have  looked  at  it  from  above,  from 
below,  in  the  sunlight,  in  the  moonlight,  in  the 
starlight,  and  in  a  thunder-storm,  you  may  be  said 
to  be  pretty  well  acquainted  with  its  charms. 
When  it  comes  to  staying  weeks  beside  it,  you 
may  be  excused  if  you  seek  some  other  diversions 
pour  passer  le  temps.  Dinner  is  an  agreeable  hour 
in  the  summer  day's  journey  always.  When  to 
spend  the  summer  at  Niagara  was  the  manifest  des 
tiny  of  all  who  had  the  slightest  claims  to  belong 
ing  to  the  ton,  the  five  o'clock  dinner  at  the  hotels 
was  elevated  into  the  very  crowning  glory  of  the 
day's  existence.  Men  and  women  both  were  in 
visible  to  the  naked  eye  for  hours  previous  to  it ; 
and  at  the  appointed  moment  they  sallied  forth 
clad  in  the  last  element  of  gorgeousness,  and  pre 
pared  for  slaughter — of  hearts  and  dinner. 

But  at  Long  Branch  the  bathing  makes  such  a 


A  "Branch"  Dinner.  51 

delightful  diversion,  occupying  almost  the  entire 
morning ;  the  afternoon  game  of  croquet — an  un 
known  joy  when  going  to  "the  Falls"  was  the  great 
mode;  the  hop  in  the  evening — though  "hops" 
have  been  hopped  ever  since  the  Pilgrims  came 
over ;  daily  newspapers  from  town ;  sitting  in 
summer-houses  on  the  cliff  to  read  them  ;  driving 
on  the  shell  road — these  and  other  pleasures  serve 
to  divert  the  mind's  eye  from  the  once  all-absorb 
ing  topic  of  dinner.  But  it  is  an  important  event 
for  all  that. 

At  this  moment  the  ladies  of  the  hotel  where  our 
party  is  stopping  are  dressed  for  dinner  ;  and  you 
are  requested  to  believe  in  this  case,  as  you  some 
times  are  by  the  playbills  at  the  theatre,  that  a 
lapse  of  several  days  has  occurred  since  the  event 
last  described. 

Mrs.  Duncan's  drowning  exploit  at  once  made 
her  an  object  of  sympathy,  and  from  that  she  rap 
idly  became  something  very  like  a  lioness  among 
the  frothy  crowd  assembled  at  the  hotel  she 
graced  with  her  presence.  The  incident  was  writ 
ten  up  at  column  length  in  the  daily  newspapers  by 
bored  correspondents,  who  had  been  sent  to  Long 
Branch,  and  who,  lounging  listlessly  about,  know 
ing  no  one,  known  to  none,  wondered  what  could 
be  the  magnet  which  yearly  draws  down  thousands 
to  this  Jersey  strand.  Enlarging  upon  the  original 
theme,  the  men  of  the  quill  did  not  hesitate  to  aver 
that  Mrs.  D n,  the  heroine  of  the  deep  blue 


52  A  "Branch"  Dinner. 

wave,  was  a  lady  of  great  learning,  varied  talents, 
immense  fortune,  and  peerless  beauty — a  queen  in 
the  social  circles  of  Long  Branch,  and  said  to  be 
engaged  to  be  married  to  a  prominent  member  of 
Congress.  In  regard  to  Mrs.  Duncan's  beauty, 
while  the  gentlemen  at  Long  Branch  were  unani 
mous  in  their  belief  that  the  verdict  of  the  corre 
spondents  was  strictly  correct,  the  ladies  were 
somewhat  divided,  a  few  (but  these  were  chiefly 
the  elderly  ones)  esteeming  the  picture  not  over 
drawn,  and  by  far  the  greater  number  saying  that 
Mrs.  Duncan,  although  certainly  a  pretty  woman, 
was  not  by  any  means  the  peerless  beauty  depicted 
by  the  fertile  pens  of  correspondents. 

"  For  my  part  I  think  she's  really  homely,"  said 
Mrs.  Barham,  who  had  never  in  her  life  been 
known  to  see  beauty  in  any  woman  except  Mrs. 
Barham. 

As  for  Fay — poor  Fay  did  not  know  what  to 
think  of  Mrs.  Duncan.  So  far  as  Mrs.  Duncan's 
beauty  was  concerned,  Fay  was  clear  enough  on 
that  point ;  Fay  thought  her  remarkably  handsome. 
There  was  something  about  her  manners,  too,  that 
Fay  couldn't  help  seeing  was  very  attractive.  She 
seemed  always  to  have  a  bright  answer  for  every 
remark  that  others  made  ;  something  which,  with 
out  apparent  effort,  caused  her  to  appear  so  well- 
informed,  so  witty,  so  clever  !  And  by  this  it  will 
be  seen  that  since  her  escape  from  a  watery  grave, 
Mrs.  Duncan  and  Fay  had  become  acquainted. 


A  "Branch"  Dinner.  53 

Good  Mrs.  Underbill  had  helped  nurse  the  beauti 
ful  woman  her  son-in-law  elect  had  saved  from 
drowning,  and  even  blue-blooded  Mrs.  Barham  had 
taken  enough  curious  interest  in  her  to  admit  her 
to  the  felicity  of  her  acquaintance — without  an  in 
troduction. 

Stuart  Phelps  had  not  returned  to  the  city  since 
the  day  of  the  rescue  from  drowning.  He  made  to 
himself  various  satisfactory  explanations  of  his  dis 
inclination  to  attend  to  business  in  town — there  was 
really  so  little  doing  just  at  this  moment — there  was 
no  pressing  necessity  for  his  going  to  town — and 
indeed  the  weather  had  become  at  last  too  trying. 
"  I  might  as  well  take  my  holiday  now  as  any  other 
time,"  he  said.  Fay  was  delighted  at  this.  Only, 
with  her  father  in  town,  there  was  one  vacant  place 
in  their  four-seated  carriage,  and  Mrs.  Duncan 
managed  to  get  Mrs.  Underhill  to  invite  her  to  oc 
cupy  it,  oftener  than  Fay  liked. 

And  more  than  this — Mrs.  Duncan  sat  at  the 
same  table  with  them  in  the  dining-room, — and  is 
sitting  there  now.  Clad  in  a  delicate  mauve  silk, 
marvelously  becoming  to  her  clear  complexion, 
blue  eyes,  and  brown  hair,  the  handsome  Mrs. 
Duncan  is  carrying  on  an  animated  conversation 
with  Mr.  Phelps,  while  Fay  and  her  mother  are 
eating  their  dinner  in  silence. 

It  is  well  somebody  is  silent  in  that  noisy  gather 
ing.  The  crowd  had  been  increasing  day  by  day, 
and  to  obtain  a  seat  at  any  table  was  now  difficult 


54  A  "Branch"  Dinner. 

It  had  been,  in  some  measure,  because  of  the  crowd 
that  Mrs.  Duncan  had  been  placed  at  the  table 
with  the  Underhill  party.  She  instantly  paid  them 
a  pleasant  compliment  by  saying  that  to  be  with 
them  made  her  meals  a  pleasure  to  look  forward 
to,  instead  of,  as  they  had  been  before,  a  pain  and 
a  disgust.  There  was  a  boy  of  eight  years  who 
had  sat  next  her  previously,  whose  mother  gorged 
him  with  food  whether  he  wanted  it  or  no,  in  the 
vain  hope  of  fattening  up  the  dyspeptic  little  skel 
eton.  Disdaining  the  use  of  knife  and  fork,  this 
cherub  generally  took  a  pickle  in  one  hand  and  a 
greasy  chicken  wing  in  the  other,  and  biting  first 
at  the  former,  then  at  the  latter,  frequently  man 
aged  to  drop  them  both,  to  the  disadvantage  of 
Mrs.  Duncan's  dress. 

From  their  adjoining  table,  the  Underhill  party 
could  hear  this  mother — Mrs.  Botkyn  was  her 
name,  and  Johnny  Botkyn  was  her  boy's — giving 
her  orders  for  dinner. 

"  Soup  and  fish  and  turkey's  wings  and  lobster 
salad  and  sweetbreads  with  mushrooms  and  roast 
turkey  with  stuffing  and  cranberry  sauce  and  apple 
fritters  and  sweet  potatoes  and  corn  and  rice  and 
pickles  and  two  cups  of  tea  and  a  glass  of  milk. 
I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  have  for  dessert  afterwards." 

While  the  colored  waiter  departs  on  the  trouble 
some  errand  of  procuring  these  various  articles  for 
the  maws  of  two  sickly-looking  individuals,  a  wo 
man  and  a  boy,  let  us  listen  to  what  Major  Cheraw 


A  "Branch"  Dinner.  55 

is  saying.  The  Major  is  not  at  Long  Branch  for 
the  summer.  "  I  detest  Long  Branch,"  says  the 
Major,  "but  I  am  forced  to  run  down  here  occa 
sionally  to  see  my  friends  Mrs.  and  Miss  Underhill, 
to  whose  absence  from  the  city  no  philosophy  can 
ever  reconcile  me,"  and  here  the  Major  bowed  low 
to  the  ladies  at  whose  table  he  was  dining.  "  I 
return  to  town  to-morrow  morning  early,"  he 
added. 

"Your  detestation  of  Long  Branch  arises  from 
your  hatred  of  the  hotels,  Major  Cheraw,"  said 
Stuart,  who  knew  the  Major's  foible,  and  loved  to 
draw  him  out. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  the  Major.  "  I  confess  to  a 
feeling  of  disgust  for  the  system  of  feeding  which 
obtains  In  hotels  conducted  on  the  American  plan. 
In  no  other  country  in  the  world  could  this  plan 
prevail  for  a  day,  because  in  no  other  is  good  food 
wasted  as  it  is  in  this  ;  for  observe  that  when  these 
various  ill-cooked  dishes  are  placed  before  you  at 
the  table,  and  you,  finding  the  rabbit  stew  is  un 
palatable,  the  lobster  salad  dressed  with  vile  oil, 
the  maccaroni  au  gratin  burnt  to  a  cinder,  become 
discouraged  and  relinquish  further  pursuit,  then 
remark,  I  pray,  that  the  waiter  who  gathers  up 
these  little  dishes,  whose  very  shape  and  size  are 
offensively  suggestive  of  messes,  remark,  I  say,  that 
this  waiter  makes  no  distinction  between  those 
dishes  your  fork  has  touched  and  those  which  are 
in  the  same  condition  in  which  he  brought  them, 


56  A  "Branch"  Dinner. 

but  piles  one  on  top  of  the  other,  mashing  all  this 
food  into  a  messiness  fit  only  for  pigs — to  whom  I 
suppose  it  goes.  I  hold  it  among  the  bright  pos 
sibilities  of  the  future  that  the  American  plan  of 
hotel  management  shall  be  laid  forever  low." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Major  Cheraw,"  said 
Mrs.  Duncan.  "It  is  a  vile  and  expensive  and 
unhealthy  system — tempting  tired  stomachs  to  eat 
and  eat,  a  bit  of  this,  a  bit  of  that,  four  meals  a 
day  sometimes — '  might  just  as  well  eat  'em— they 
charge  you  all  the  same/  I  overheard  our  neighbor, 
Mrs.  Botkyn,  say  yesterday." 

"  I  have  known  a  gentleman  of  wealth,"  said  the 
Major,  "  who  had  twice  made  the  tour  of  Europe, 
while  staying  at  one  of  our  huge  hotels,  paying 
four  dollars  and  a  half  a  day  for  his  board  and 
lodging,  leave  the  groaning  table  whereon  his  din 
ner  was  served  at  the  hotel  and  betake  himself  to 
the  nearest  German  restaurant,  there  to  eat  sausage 
and  black  bread  with  a  relish.  '  They  seem  so  sim 
ple  and  honest  after  all  that  sickening  flummery,' 
says  he.  The  European  plan,  as  we  call  it  here — 
and  how  or  why  the  American  plan  ever  had  birth 
is  to  me  a  mystery — is  the  only  fair,  honest,  and 
healthful  plan  known.  If  you  pay  a  certain  price 
for  everything  you  eat  you  will  not  be  likely  to 
order  a  dozen  times  more  than  you  want.  If  you 
dine  with  a  friend,  it  is  not  fair  that  you  should  pay 
for  your  dinner  at  the  hotel.  This  abominable  plan 
is  the  very  groundwork  of  that  dreadful  system  of 


A  "Branch"  Dinner.  57 

over-eating,  which  makes  the  United  States  the 
home  of  dyspepsia,  and  causes  the  lean,  lank,  sal 
low  dyspeptic  to  be  the  recognized  type  of  the 
American,  as  round,  rosy,  jolly  Johnny  Bull  is  of 
the  Englishman." 

At  the  table  next  to  that  which  the  Major  was 
edifying  with  these  wise  remarks,  sat  a  striking 
illustration  of  the  Major's  discourse,  in  the  person 
of  Mr.  Take  Notice  Wiggins,  of  Oshkosh.  Mr. 
Wiggins  was  at  the  right  hand  of  Madame  Pitta- 
luga.  The  unfortunate  negro  who  had  charge  of 
their  table  was  flying  about  like  a  madman  ;  a 
prima  donna,  a  tenor,  and  a  baritone  to  wait  upon, 
and  N.  B.  Wiggins  "bossing  the  job,"  as  the  man 
told  the  carver  in  the  kitchen. 

Mr.  Wiggins  kept  filliping  his  fingers  impatient 
ly.  "Where's  that  head  waiter?  Here!  hi! 
You  !  Say  !  Wine  card  !  "  When  in  possession 
of  the  card  Mr.  Wiggins  begged  the  prima  donna 
to  say  what  sort  of  wine  she  preferred.  She  men 
tioned  the  brand  of  champagne. 

"Well,  here's  luck,"  said  Mr.  Wiggins,  as  the 
Jersey  cider  bubbled  in  the  glass. 

The  men  drank  the  toast  without  understanding 
it,  or  caring  to  do  so,  but  Madame  Pittaluga 
tossed  her  head  to  one  side  in  the  piquantest  way, 
and  asked  what  "  loog  "  meant. 

"  Why,  success,  you  know  ;  hope  you'll  be  suc 
cessful  when  you  sing  at  the  Academy." 

She  understood  this  and  thanked  him ;  and 
3* 


58  A  "Branch"  Dinner. 

plucking  a  rose-bud  from  the  large  basket  of  odor 
ous  flowers  which  stood  in  front  of  her,  and  which 
bore  an  admirer's  card,  she  stuck  it  in  his  button 
hole  and  asked  him  to  wear  it  for  her  sake. 

Take  Notice  had  never  taken  a  wife.  He  was 
awkward,  homely,  chewed  tobacco,  and  talked  bad 
grammar  ;  but,  he  was  so  much  fascinated  by  this 
woman  that  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  he  re 
frained  from  asking  her  then  and  there  if  she  would 
marry  him.  He  felt  that  this  would  be  premature, 
however,  and  bided  his  time. 

They  arose,  and  Madame  Pittaluga,  with  Mr. 
Wiggins  close  at  her  side,  the  Italian  men  follow 
ing,  left  the  room.  Every  eye  was  on  them  as 
they  walked  down  the  long  space  of  the  dining- 
room,  and  Mrs.  Barham  was  actually  rude  enough 
to  lift  her  eye-glass. 

"  On  piatza  is  well,"  the  tenor  managed  to  say 
to  Wiggins  when  they  were  comfortably  seated  on 
the  piazza  surrounding  the  hotel. 

N.  B.  couldn't  understand  what  he  meant. 
Madame,  in  her  pretty  way,  made  him  comprehend 
that  the  tenor  meant  to  indicate  that  sitting  on  the 
piazza  was  agreeable. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course,  very  much  so,"  ejaculated 
Wiggins,  grinning  and  nodding  his  head  vehe 
mently  at  the  Italian  to  encourage  him  in  the  belief 
that  his  English  was  understandable  ;  "  as  you  re 
mark,  on  the  pyazzer  a  fellow  feels  first-rate." 

The  Underhill  party  were  now  walking  up  and 


A  "Branch"  Dinner.  59 

down,  Stuart  and  Fay  together,  Mrs.  Underbill 
and  Mrs.  Duncan  behind  them. 

"  Your  daughter  is  a  charming  creature,"  said 
Mrs.  Duncan  to  Mrs.  Underbill. 

"  Fay  is  a  darling  girl ! "  said  the  elder  lady. 

"  Your  only  child  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Duncan. 

"  Y — es,"  answered  the  other  lady. 

The  keen  blue  eyes  quickly  turned  on  her  face, 
and  seeing  some  confusion  there,  Mrs.  Duncan  said 
to  herself,  "  That  'yes'  is  very  like  'no;'  perhaps 
she  has  other  children,  and  wants  to  conceal  it." 

The  balcony  rapidly  filled  with  people.  Car 
riages  drove  up.  One  of  these,  a  rich,  dark  lan 
dau,  drawn  by  two  superb  bays,  a  perfect  match, 
contained  some  members  of  that  aristocratic  family 
at  whom  we  glanced  on  the  boat,  whose  name  is  a 
synonym  for  opulence  in  New  York  ears,  and 
whose  ancestor  was  a  poor  fur-dealer.  They 
handed  cards  to  their  footman,  who  gave  them  to 
the  hotel  clerk,  and  an  instant  after  they  drove  off. 

"  The family  !  "  said  Mrs.  Barham,  as  Mrs. 

Duncan  and  Mrs.  Underbill  approached.  "They 
have  a  cottage  here  ;  they're  never  seen  at  the 
hotels,  except  when  they  leave  a  card  on  some  one 
who  is  stopping  at  them." 

"  I  suppose  they  think  the  hotels  are  vulgar," 
said  Mrs.  Duncan,  half  sneeringly. 

"  One  certainly  does  get  thrown  in  with  people 
one  knows  nothing  about,"  replied  Mrs.  Barham 
in  a  tone  of  her  blue-bloodiest  hauteur. 


60  A  "Branch"  Dinner. 

If  Mrs.  Duncan  winced  under  this  thrust  no  one 
saw  it,  for  the  evening  shades  were  now  falling, 
and  lights  were  glimmering  on  the  avenue.  The 
piazza  was  crowded.  Every  one  preferred  sitting 
out-doors  to  entering  the  lighted  parlor.  Never 
theless,  the  musicians  came  in,  seated  themselves 
by  the  piano  in  one  corner  of  the  large  drawing- 
room,  and  began  scraping  their  cat-gut.  This  was 
the  signal  for  a  swarm  of  children  to  re-assemble, 
and  then  began  the  usual  Babel  of  shrill  small 
voices  clamoring,  one  for  this,  another  for  that ;  a 
waltz,  aredowa,  the  Lancers,  a  quadrille  !  Mothers 
were  called  in,  and  Mrs.  Botkyn,  in  a  struggle  for 
the  partner  for  the  waltz  that  her  blessed  Johnny 
wanted,  clutched  the  girl  by  the  neck  as  she  was 
hurrying  by,  as  if  she  had  been  a  chicken  bone, 
and  brought  her  mother  up  in  battle  array  to  know 
what  on  earth  Mrs.  Botkyn  meant  by  ill-treating 
her  daughter  in  that  manner. 

And  outside,  the  lookers-on  gazed  through  the 
windows,  and  yawned  wofully  behind  their  hats 
and  their  fans  at  the  monotonous  sights  and 
sounds. 

"  It's  so  dull  without  dancing  men,"  said  Mrs. 
Barham,  arranging  her  laces  and  shaking  her  head 
so  that  her  diamond  earrings  touched  her  cheeks 
caressingly. 

"  I  think  it's  a  stupid  place,  any  way,"  said  a 
plain-spoken  New  England  girl  sitting  near.  "  I 
don't  see  what  people  want  to  come  here  for  and 


A  "Branch"  Dinner.  61 

spend  their  money  like  water.  It's  all  sham  and 
hollowness,  and  I  believe  that  half  the  people  who 
come  here  and  cut  a  swell  go  home  and  live  on 
bread  and  cheese  for  the  rest  of  the  year  to  make 
up  for  it.  I'm  going  to-morrow.  You  don't 
catch  me  here  again.  If  I  find  I  need  sea  air  I'll 
run  down  to  some  village  on  the  New  England 
coast,  pay  seven  dollars  a  week  for  board,  and 
wear  a  cotton  print  gown  and  a  hat  with  a  brim  as 
wide  as  an  umbrella." 

"  Every  one  to  their  taste,"  said  Mrs.  Drill- 
majec,  a  lady  with  two  marriageable  daughters 
whom  she  had  escorted  to  the  watering-places  for 
the  last  six  years  ;  "  we  have  to  live  in  the  style 
we've  always  been  accustomed  to.  My  daughters 
could  never  wear  cotton  prints." 

The  truth  was  that  Mrs.  Drillmajee  and  her  two 
marriageable  daughters  lived  in  abject  poverty 
three-fourths  of  the  year,  and  flaunted  vulgar  finery 
at  the  watering-places  during  the  other  fourth,  in 
the  hope  of  catching  "  eligible  "  husbands. 

Overhearing  these  remarks,  a  young  man,  seated 
in  a  corner  completely  in  shadow,  said  to  his  com 
panion  in  a  low  voice,  stroking  her  dark  curls, 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  place,  dearest?  " 

"  The  place  where  I  happen  to  be  at  present  is 
paradise,"  she  answered,  laying  her  cheek  against 
his  shoulder. 

Lowering  his  head  the  young  Southern  husband 
kissed  his  bride.  They  had  no  difficulty  in  being 


62  A  "Branch"  Dinner, 

happy  at  Long  Branch.  They  kept  together  al 
most  constantly,  and  made  no  acquaintances. 
Every  one  admired  them  ;  nothing  more  awakens 
respect  and  admiration,  even  among  the  most 
thoughtless  and  heartless,  than  the  sight  of  a  true 
and  beautiful  conjugal  love. 

Stuart  Phelps  and  Fay  somehow  found  them 
selves  among  the  shadows  on  the  piazza  also. 

"I  begin  to  think  these  watering-place  hotels 
are  bad  places  for  people  with  the  least  dignity  or 
self-respect,"  said  Fay.  "You  are  thrown  in  with 
people  you  know  nothing  about,  obliged  to  dress 
two  or  three  times  a  day,  the  same  as  you  do 
during  the  fashionable  winter  season  ;  you  keep  late 
hours,  eat  unwholesome  food,  get  hot  and  tired, 
and  then  perhaps  walk  by  the  sea  and  are  chilled 
through.  You  remember  Uncle  Lathrop's  Long 
Branch  experience  :  he  went  to  one  of  the  hops  at 
the  Greatenormous  Hotel,  got  overheated,  walked 
to  his  own  hotel  at  midnight  along  the  cold  sea 
shore,  dressed  in  white  linen  clothing,  and  that 
very  night  was  taken  with  a  quinzy,  from  which  he 
almost  died  before  morning." 

"Oh,  the  crowd  at  the  Greatenormous  Hotel 
is  something  too  horrible  !  I  wouldn't  stop  there 
for  anything  on  earth.  If  I  were  asked  where  a 
foreigner  could  see  the  vulgarest  mob  in  America, 
I  should  say,  go  look  in  at  the  Greatenormous 
Hotel  at  Long  Branch,  on  any  Saturday  night 
during  August." 


The  Story  of  the  Sands.  63 

"The  truth  is  that  the  best  people  don't  come 
to  any  of  these  hotels." 

"And  how  about  the  Underhill  family — the 
very  best  people  in  the  wide  world  ?  "  said  Stuart. 

"  Papa  says  he  will  never  come  another  season. 
He  will  buy  a  country  residence  somewhere,  and 
then  we  shall  all  live  together  with  our  household 
about  us,  as  gentlefolks  should." 

"Yes,  the  young  couple,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stuart 
Phelps,  and  the  old  couple,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  W. 
Underhill,  will  live  together  comfortably  as  gentle 
folks  should."  And  with  her  arm  tucked  under 
his  they  resumed  their  walk. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  SANDS. 

THEY  found  on  their  return  that  Mrs.  Underhill 
had  retired  to  her  room,  and  left  word  for  Fay  to 
follow  immediately.  So  the  lovers  said  good-night. 
The  piazza  was  pretty  well  deserted  now.  The 
noisy  children  had  gone  long  ago,  the  musicians 
had  departed,  the  drawing-room  was  empty,  the 
lights  turned  down  low.  Only  a  few  men  were 
sitting  about  outside,  imbibing  mysterious  fluids 
through  the  medium  of  straws,  in  a  ghost-like  sort 


64  The  Story  of  the  Sands, 

of  way.  Stuart  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was 
nearly  twelve  o'clock.  Lighting  a  cigar,  he  strolled 
leisurely  towards  the  beach.  The  moon  was  up, 
and  the  ocean  was  silvered  by  its  beams  far  out 
side  the  bar  ;  there,  miles  away,  it  seemed  peaceful ; 
but  on  the  beach  the  waves  lashed  and  thundered 
with  all  the  wild  fury  of  high-tide  at  night. 

Stuart  walked  along  the  sands,  absorbed  in 
thought.  His  dear  little  Fay  !  How  he  loved 
her  !  What  a  blissful  married  life  was  in  store  for 
him  !  To  marry  the  girl  of  all  others  best  suited 
to  him  in  mind,  in  station,  to  bring  to  her  a  heart, 
a  soul,  a  body,  absolutely  as  pure  as  her  own,  this 
was  gratification  few  men  enjoyed.  For  up  to  this 
moment,  be  it  distinctly  understood — up  to  this 
moment,  when  he  walked,  carelessly  puffing  his 
cigar,  on  the  sands  at  midnight,  Stuart  Phelps  was 
a  pure  boy,  a  pure  man.  Within  the  last  fortnight 
he  had  been  half  amused,  half  ashamed  at  certain 
trifles — a  pressure  from  a  hand,  a  glance  from  an 
eye,  and  that  hand,  that  eye,  not  those  of  Fay 
Underhill — but  to  say  that  for  one  moment  his 
faith  in  himself  was  shaken,  that  for  an  instant 
he  was  disloyal  to  the  girl  to  whom  he  had  pledged 
his  troth,  would  have  been  falsehood. 

Walk  on  in  the  moon's  beams,  Stuart — oh,  lin 
ger  in  the  light,  poor  boy  ! — no,  he  throws  away 
his  cigar,  he  strides  into  shadow,  a  lithe  form 
creeps  up  behind  him,  and  when,  hearing  the  rus 
tle  of  a  gown,  he  turns  quickly,  Temptation  stands 


The  Story  of  the  Sands.  65 

in  front  of  him,  and  smiles  a  beckoning  smile  that 
might  almost  have  lured  an  angel. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Duncan!  you  here?"  he  stam 
mered  out. 

"Yes;  I  have  been  strolling  here  some  time, 
trying  to  be  rid  of  my  unhappy  thoughts." 

"But,  you  are  not  alone?"  said  Stuart,  in 
stinctively  clinging  to  the  proprieties  for  an  instant. 

"  Why  not?  I  am  not  a  chit  of  a  girl,  that  I 
should  be  afraid  of  a  moonlit  walk  alone  on  the 
sands.  Besides,  when  a  woman  has  passed  through 
what  I  have,  she  becomes  strangely  indifferent  to 
trifling  proprieties.  I  was  sad  ;  I  came  here  to  be 
alone." 

"Pardon  me  for  intruding  on  you  then,"  said 
Stuart,  lifting  his  hat.  "  I  will  bid  you  good 
night." 

"  No,"  she  said,  hastily.  "  I  am  glad  you  have 
come.  Don't  go  away — unless,"  and  here  a  faint, 
sad  smile  played  on  her  face  as  she  looked  up  at 
him  in  the  moonlight,  "unless  you  are  afraid  of 
Mrs.  Grundy." 

"  Not  I  !  "  said  Stuart,  laughing,  and  drawing 
himself  up  as  if  with  unconscious  manly  defiance 
of  the  world  that  should  dare  to  question  his  goings 
and  comings. 

"  Shall  we  go  up  and  sit  in  the  summer-house  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Duncan.  "  I  am  tired  of  walking. " 

They  ascended  the  flight  of  wooden  steps  which 
led  to  the  bank  above,  and  sat  in  the  summer 


66  The  Story  of  the  Sands. 

house.  The  restless  sea  with  regular  beat  dashed 
noisily  at  their  feet.  The  houses  behind  were  in 
shadow  ;  the  walks  deserted. 

"  So  you  are  not  afraid  of  a  censorious  world  ?  " 
she  said,  looking  straight  in  his  eyes.  "  How  I 
honor  you  for  that !  " 

She  was  very  bewitching  to-night,  Stuart  could 
not  help  thinking.  Over  her  dress  of  tender  lilac 
silk  she  had  drawn  a  jacket  of  purple  velvet ;  and 
about  her  head  was  flung  a  fleecy  cloud  of  white 
drapery  which  made  her  look  like  some  vision  of 
human  loveliness  from  the  Orient. 

"  You  make  too  much  of  it,"  he  replied.  "  A 
man  deserves  no  credit  for  such  a  thing.  He  mus4 
be  a  poor  coward  who  would  govern  his  conduct 
by  his  fears  of  being  gossiped  about  by  a  lot  of 
old  women." 

"  How  bravely  you  say  that !  " 

"  My  own  sense  of  what  is  right  is  guide  enough 
for  me.  I  don't  claim  to  be  a  saint,  but  I  have 
been  trained  by  good  teachers  and  I  can  trust  my 
moral  sense  implicitly,  I  think.  My  father  is  one 
of  the  purest  men — one  of  the  truest  Christians — 
that  ever  lived,  and  my  mother  is  an  angel.  I  am 
not  likely  to  forget  that  I  am  the  son  of  such 
parents." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Yes,  you  are  good,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  break 
ing  the  silence  in  a  low,  musical  voice.  "You 
have  never  been  brought  into  contact  with  the 


The  Story  of  the  Sands.  67 

wicked  world.  You  have  never  been  tried  in  the 
fire  of  bitter  persecution — your  life  has  never  been 
made  a  curse  to  you,  until  you  have  longed  to  die 
and  be  at  rest." 

"  Have  you  suffered  so  ?"  said  Stuart,  gently. 

"Ah,  if  you  knew  what  I  have  suffered!  If 
you  knew  what  it  was  to  yearn  with  a  woman's 
heart  for  the  love  of  a  strong,  good  man — and 
yearn  for  it  in  vain.  If  you  knew  what  it  was  to 
be  persecuted  by  the  love  of  a  man  whose  very 
presence  is  loathsome  to  you,  but  who  pursues 
you  with  the  relentlessness  of  a  fiend.  That  has 
been  my  fate — that  will  be  my  fate  until  the  end — 
and  I  shall  never  even  have  the  poor  privilege  of 
pouring  into  a  sympathetic  ear  the  story  of  my 
sorrows  and  my  wrongs." 

Stuart  moved  uneasily  on  his  seat.  Mrs.  Dun 
can  was  silent,  looking  out  sadly  on  the  sea. 

"  I'm  sure,  Mrs.  Duncan,"  he  said,  hesitatingly, 
"if  you  mean  that  I  would  not  sympathize  with 
you,  you — mistake  me  very  much." 

"Oh,  if  I  dared  tell  you  !" 

"  I  confess  I  should  like  to  know — to  know 
something  more  about  you,  if  it  were  only  to 
silence  the — "  he  stopped  and  bit  his  lip. 

"  I  understand.  It  is  my  fate.  You  have  heard 
unkind  things  said  of  me  ?  " 

"Well,  I  didn't  exactly  mean  that.  But,  so 
little  appears  to  be  known  about  you." 

' '  What  the  world  may  know  of  me   is   easily 


68  The  Story  of  the  Sands. 

told.  I  am  a  widow.  My  husband  was  a  wealthy 
citizen  of  San  Francisco,  and — he  is  dead.  I  have 
no  relations  on  earth.  I  am  all  alone,  mistress  of 
my  own  actions,  sole  guardian  of  my  own  wealth. 
The  world  can  know  this,  if  it  cares  to  know  it. 
To  me,  it  is  a  matter  of  entire  indifference.  But, 
what  the  world  can  never  know  is,  that  beneath 
all  my  lightness  of  manner  I  carry  a  heavy,  heavy 
heart." 

"  You  miss  your  lost  companion,  no  doubt," 
said  Stuart,  a  little  uncomfortable,  he  hardly  knew 
why,  and  doubtful  what  to  say. 

"  He  never  gave  me  love,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan. 
"  He  was  more  like  a  father  to  me  than  a  husband. 
I  was  light-hearted  enough,  until — until  within  a 
fortnight  past." 

"  Something  has  happened  then  ?  " 

"Yes,  something  has  happened,"  and  she  rose 
to  her  feet  and  drew  the  folds  of  her  fleecy  nubia 
about  her  face.  "  I  have  found  what  it  is  to  love, 
and  to  feel  that  the  being  I  love  belongs  to  an 
other,  and  can  never  be  aught  to  me." 

"Shall  we  go  in?"  he  said,  offering  his  arm. 
"It  is  getting  late." 

True  enough.  One  o'clock.  At  the  door  of  the 
hotel  they  fairly  ran  against  Marcia,  peering  into 
the  darkness  through  spectacled  eyes,  a  shawl 
thrown  over  her  head. 

"Were  you  waiting  for  me,  Marcia?"  asked 
Mrs.  Duncan. 


The  Story  of  the  Sands.  69 

"Yes.     Anxious." 

"  Is  she  a  relation  ?  "  asked  Stuart  of  Mrs.  Dun 
can  in  a  whisper. 

"No.  A  servant.  But  devoted  to  me — at  least 
I  think  so,"  this  somewhat  hesitatingly. 

They  separated,  and  when  Mrs.  Duncan  entered 
her  room,  she  passionately  kissed  the  hand  Stuart 
Phelps  had  held  for  an  instant  as  he  said  good 
night. 

Then,  when  Marcia's  back  was  turned,  she  drew 
again  from  her  heaving  bosom  the  crumpled  letter, 
and  glared  at  its  written  story  with  excited  eyes. 

"  Come,  if  you  dare  !  "  she  hissed  between  her 
teeth  by  way  of  answer  to  its  threatenings.  ' '  Come, 
if  you  dare  !  Stuart  Phelps  shall  be  mine  in  spite 
of  you,  and  in  spite  of  Fay  Underhill,  too." 

She  felt  the  touch  of  a  cold  hand  upon  her  shoul 
der,  and  hastily  concealed  the  letter. 

"Your  bed  is  ready.  Better  get  some  rest," 
said  the  woman  with  the  spectacled  eyes. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   ART   OF  HEARTS. 

REFERENCE  has  been  made  to  the  blue  blood  of 
Mrs.  Barham.  Reference  to  the  blue  blood  of  Mrs. 
Barham  was  constantly  being  made  by  Mrs.  Bar- 
ham  herself;  and  it  is  one  of  the  most  amusing 
features  of  the  great  sham  society  to  which  she  be 
longed,  that  as  the  lady  had  a  great  deal  of  money, 
the  great  sham  society  never  took  the  pains  to  in 
quire  into  the  question  of  the  blueness  of  her  blood. 
If  it  had  done  so,  it  would  have  had  no  difficulty  in 
discovering  that  an  ancestor,  no  more  remote  than 
her  grandfather,  had  kept  a  grocery,  in  Boston. 
The  story  of  how  he  acquired  his  wealth  need  not 
be  recited  here  in  minute  detail.  He  was  a  thrifty 
German,  and  had  bought  swampy  lands,  that  in  his 
day  lay  far  outside  the  city  limits  ;  now  they  con 
stituted  a  fashionable  suburb,  the  tiniest  little  box 
of  a  house  in  which  rented  for  more  per  month 
than  the  lands  had  cost  an  acre.  At  the  age  of 
twenty,  the  heiress  of  these  acres  had  married  a 
lieutenant  in  the  Navy,  and  from  him  had  come, 
perhaps,  her  first  idea  of  the  desirability  of  blue 
blood.  He  belonged  to  an  old  Massachusetts  fam- 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  71 

ily,  strict  Presbyterians,  who  had  given  him  the 
cold  shoulder  because  they  considered  him  a  mau- 
vais  sujct ;  and  on  his  first  cruise  after  his  mar 
riage,  the  mauvais  sujet  had  been  swept  overboard ; 
his  cruel  relations  said  he  was  "drunk,  of  course," 
and  transferred  the  cold  shoulder  to  his  widow,  as 
if  she  were  drunk  of  course.  It  may  seem  strange 
that  Mrs.  Barham  had  never  married  again  ;  but  if 
you  take  into  consideration  that  she  required  in 
her  suitor  as  large  a  fortune  as  her  own,  and  blood 
even  bluer — if  such  a  thing  were  possible — the  rea 
son  for  her  prolonged  widowhood  may  be  more 
easily  understood. 

Perhaps  the  most  galling  trial  Mrs.  Barham  had 
to  endure,  was  being  obliged  to  keep  up  friendly 
relations  with  distant  kinsfolk  from  Germany. 
The  number,  and  if  it  must  be  written,  the  ple 
beian  character  of  these  was  something  appalling. 
On  and  on  they  came,  one  family  after  another, 
aunts,  uncles,  cousins  by  the  score,  male  and  fe 
male  ;  from  the  nursing  infant  to  the  gray-haired 
man.  All  hunted  up  their  American  cousin,  Frau 
Barham,  and  Frau  Barham  was  terribly  ashamed 
of  them.  Her  long-sustained  fiction  of  blue  blood 
— for  of  late  years  she  had  not  confined  herself  to 
the  glory  of  her  husband's  blue  blood,  nor  to  Lord 
Barham  in  England,  but  had  invented  a  German 
lineage  for  herself,  which  dated  from  Barbarossa, 
and  was  nearly  allied  to  the  present  reigning  house 
— how  could  she  keep  it  up  if  some  of  her  aristo- 


72  The  Art  of  Hearts. 

cratic  friends  were  to  pop  in  and  visit  her  (she  had 
an  elegant  suite  of  rooms  at  a  very  exclusive  pri 
vate  hotel  in  New  York)  while  she  was  entertain 
ing  some  tow-headed  peasant  from  Coblentz,  or 
Cologne,  who  called  her  cousin,  and  wore  a  blue 
cotton  coat  ?  Fortunately  the  cousins  stayed  but  a 
short  time  in  New  York.  The  most  of  them  were 
very  poor,  and  got  out  to  Minnesota  and  Wiscon 
sin  as  soon  as  possible. 

But,  at  the  present  time,  one  of  Mrs.  Barham's 
German  cousins  was  here — here  at  Long  Branch  ! 
But  for  qualifying  circumstances  this  would  have 
been  a  death-blow  to  Mrs.  Barham.  The  qualify 
ing  circumstances  were  that  he  was  rich,  rather 
good-looking,  well-dressed,  frank,  amiable,  and 
honest.  The  disqualifying  circumstances  for  his 
being  a  satisfactory  cousin  to  Mrs.  Barham  were  that 
he  was  entirely  without  pride,  was  intensely  demo 
cratic,  wouldn't  take  the  hint  about  keeping  up  the 
fiction  in  regard  to  blue-blooded  ancestry  in  Ger 
many,  and,  on  the  contrary,  was  always  making 
some  dreadful  reference  to  his  former  life  and  oc 
cupation  there,  which  fell  on  Mrs.  Barham's  ears 
as  the  loathed  "  Quand  f  etais  lieutenant  d'artil- 
lerie  "  of  the  first  Napoleon  on  those  of  the  blue- 
blooded  monarchs  of  whom  the  plebeian  artillery 
lieutenant  had  made  himself  one. 

Mr.  Hermann  Kalbfleisch  was  a  pork  packer  at 
Chicago.  His  business  was  profitable,  his  health 
good,  his  spirits  light.  He  was  one  of  the  fairest 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  73 

of  blondes,  so  far  as  his  hair  and  eyelashes  were 
concerned ;  beard  he  had  none,  nor  a  sign  of  it ; 
his  complexion  was  pink  from  chin  to  forehead,  an 
unvarying  tinge,  as  if  he  went  through  life  blush 
ing.  He  was  easily  amused  ;  laughed  heartily  and 
loudly,  merry  peals  pleasant  to  hear  ;  and  there  were 
moments  when  Mrs.  Barham  was  half  inclined  to  the 
belief  that  at  last  she  had  found  a  German  cousin 
of  whom  she  might,  in  a  qualified  degree,  be  proud. 

For  it  was  much  in  Mrs.  Barham's  eyes  that  the 
Underhill  family  should  so  like  Hermann.  Mrs. 
Underhill  said  it  was  a  pleasure  to  meet  such  a 
fresh,  hearty,  unaffected,  unspoiled  young  man  ; 
although,  so  far  as  these  qualities  were  concerned, 
Mrs.  Barham  could  have  shown  her  scores  of  her 
cousins  who  also  possessed  them  and  who  were 
now  tramping  over  their  three-dollar-an-acre  farms 
in  the  far  West,  in  wooden  shoes  perhaps.  But 
Hermann  was  rich  and  lived  in  a  city  ;  and  although 
his  pork  packing  was  a  most  unpoetical,  not  to  say 
ill-smelling  and  vulgar,  business,  yet  he  had  made 
a  fortune  by  it,  and — but  when  this  was  said,  it  was 
generally  enough ;  nothing  more  was  needed ; 
money  covered  the  whole  ground. 

Fay's  father,  John  W.  Underhill,  who  has  as  yet 
been  little  mentioned,  principally  because  he  was 
one  of  the  quietest  and  most  unobtrusive  of  men, 
said  it  made  him  feel  twenty  years  younger  to  have 
that  young  German  fellow  around,  and  as  he  made 
this  remark  to  his  wife,  sitting  on  the  piazza  on  the 


74  The  Art  of  Hearts. 

morning  following  the  events  of  the  last  chapter, 
they  heard  Kalbfleisch's  silver  ripples  of  laughter  a 
half  octave  above  the  others  as  he  enjoyed  the 
felicity  of  being  made  a  "booby"  in  a  game  of 
croquet  which  he  was  playing  with  Fay  and  some 
girls  from  Philadelphia. 

"Now,  I  told  you  how  it  vas,  Miss  Vay,"  he 
said  ;  "  so  long  I  hev  to  play  croquet  mit  a  lot  of 
ladies  and  no  oder  man,  den  I  git  myself  made  a 
donkey  booby  ;  I  git  nervous — I  don't  see  vat  I  vas 
about." 

"Why,  Mr.  Kalbfleisch  !  "  said  Miss  Cornwallis, 
the  leading  belle  of  a  hotel  farther  up  the  beach, 
and  a  noted  Philadelphia  beauty  ;  "I'm  sure,  I  think 
we're  the  ones  to  be  nervous.  Just  think  !  Only 
one  little  gentleman — one  single  gentleman — I  may 
say  one  little  single  gentleman — for  five  beauless 
ladies  !  There  !  Fay  has  roqueted  my  ball  while 
I've  been  talking.  I  shall  never  be  a  good  player, 
I  fear,  especially  when  there's  a  single  German 
gentleman  around  to  make  me  nervous." 

This  was  a  tone  of  wonderful  lightness  and  bad 
inage  for  Cornelia  Cornwallis,  the  stateliest  girl  of 
her  set,  and  was  conclusive  evidence  that  Kalb 
fleisch  was  a  nice  fellow,  to  whom  one  could  say 
anything,  sure  of  his  accepting  it  in  good  part,  and 
not  presuming  on  it. 

"Did  you  ever  play  Presbyterian  billiards?" 
asked  Take  Notice  Wiggins  of  Madame  Pittaluga, 
as  he  sat  with  the  operatic  party  on  the  piazza. 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  75 

Madame  lifted  her  shoulders  almost  to  her  ears, 
smilingly  shook  her  head  from  side  to  side,  and  said, 

"  I  do  not  understand." 

"I  mean,  did  you  ever  play  the  game  they're 
playing  there  ?  Suppose  we  try  one — come  along, 
Moosoo  !  " 

Here  Take  Notice  clapped  the  tenor  soundly  on 
the  back.  The  harmless  "  Moosoo  "  was  gazing  at 
far-off  vessels  through  an  opera-glass,  and  turned 
around  with  as  startled  a  look  as  if  he  had  been  on 
board  one  of  the  distant  craft  and  she  had  struck  a 
rock. 

"Pardon"  he  stammered;  "  vous  dites?  je  ne 
vous  comprends  pas. ' ' 

French  was  a  foreign  language  to  these  Italians, 
and  it  seemed  natural  enough  to  them  that  all  for 
eigners  should  understand  it.  I  have  known  a 
Frenchman  whose  knowledge  of  English — his  only 
foreign  language — was  restricted  to  "bifstek"  and 
"  God  sev  de  Quin,"  try  with  these  words  to  in 
quire  the  way  to  the  Royal  Palace  in  Madrid  of  a 
Basque  peasant  fresh  from  his  province. 

"  Come  along  ;  I'll  show  you,"  said  Mr.  Wiggins, 
starting  to  his  feet,  and  Madame  graciously  arose 
also. 

But  the  tenor  declined.  With  a  pleasant  bow  he 
shook  his  head  and  said,  "  Non,je  vous  remercie" 

"  Shall  we  go  it  alone,  Madame  ?  "  Mr.  Wiggins 
asked,  pointing  to  the  game  which  was  in  progress 
on  the  smooth  lawn. 


76  The  Art  of  Hearts. 

"  I  prefare  walking  to  zese  gemes,"  she  said  ;  but 
it  is  doubtful  if  she  understood  his  question, 
though  the  answer  fitted  well  enough.  And'  so 
they  walked  arm  in  arm  upon  the  broad  piazza.. 

"  De  sea  is  beautifool  dis  morning,"  she  said, 
gazing  across  the  sheet  of  water,  which  lay  placid 
almost  as  a  lake  after  its  fierce  turmoil  of  the 
night. 

"Yes,  it  is  kind  o' purty,"  he  answered;  and 
there  was  a  pause.  His  entire  energies  for  the 
moment  were  directed  towards  regulating  his  pace 
in  such  a  way  as  to  accommodate  his  long  strides 
to  her  short  footsteps.  After  a  turn  or  two,  they 
sat — this  time  at  the  far  end  of  the  piazza,  where 
there  were  no  listeners. 

"  How  do  you  like  our  country?"  he  asked  of 
her,  after  they  had  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  Oh,  I  can  scarcely  say.  When  I  make  my 
debtit,  if  so  I  am  successfool  den  I  sail  like  it.  For 
an  artiste,  success  you  know,  it  is  all.  If  I  were 
in  Paradise  and  de  critics  there  put  in  de  news 
paper  dat  I  sang  false,  den  I  should  not  like  Para 
dise." 

There  was  something  so  amusingly  professional 
about  this,  that  Wiggins  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  that's  natural  enough.  After 
all,  your  biz  is  the  great  thing.  That's  why  I 
don't  care  a  snap  for  these  watering-places." 

"You  will  be  present  at  my  dtfbdt  ?  "  asked 
Madame. 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  77 

"  You  bet  I  will  !  "  he  answered.  "  I'm  bound 
to  see  you  through  before  I  go  West.  You  never 
thought  of  settling  down  in  America,  did  you  ? 
Lots  of  foreigners  do,  you  know." 

How  to  tell  this  woman  he  was  in  love  with  her, 
was  what  Take  Notice  Wiggins  had  been  turning 
over  and  over  in  his  mind  for  a  week.  He  had 
never  seen  a  woman  who  so  caught  his  fancy. 
She  was  jolly,  and  he  liked  jolly  women  ;  she  was 
stout,  and  he  liked  stout  women  ;  she  was  a 
foreigner,  and  that  he  always  thought  he  should 
not  like,  but  he  did  ;  it  gave  an  added  zest,  a  more 
delicious  piquancy,  to  her  sparkling  chatter. 

"  You  bet  I  will  be  at  your  deebew,"  he  contin 
ued  ;  "I'd  do  anything  most  that  I  thought 
likely'd  please  you.  Is  there  anything  you  can 
think  of,  that  I  can  do  that  would  please  you?" 

"Yas,"  she  answered,  with  a  piquant  smile. 
"  Do  not  any  more — chew  tobacco." 

This  was  a  surprising  request ;  for  Mr.  Wiggins, 
like  many  other  men  addicted  to  this  habit,  was 
under  the  impression  that  nobody  suspected  it  in 
him. 

"  My  last  chaw  !  "  ejaculated  Take  Notice,  con 
tributing  with  a  powerful  sweep  of  the  arm  this 
choice  morsel  to  the  fertilizing  of  the  soil  by  the 
roadside.  "  I'll  never  take  another." 

At  this  heroic  renunciation  of  a  delicate  delight, 
merely  to  please  her  whim,  is  it  extraordinary  that 
Madame  Pittaluga  should  have  been  so  flattered, 


78  The  Art  of  Hearts. 

that  she  smiled  bewilderingly  upon  poor  Mr.  Wig 
gins,  extended  her  plump  hand  to  him,  and  let  it 
rest  for  more  than  an  instant  in  his  bony  fingers  ? 
And  this  being  the  case,  is  it  at  all  wonderful  on 
the  other  hand,  that  Take  Notice  should  have  felt 
his  heart  leap  up  to  his  throat,  and  have  suddenly 
found  courage  to  stutter  out : 

"  I  wisht  you'd  stay  in  this  country  !  I  wisht 
you'd  come  out  to  Oshkosh  and  see  ef  you'd  like 
to  live  there." 

Now  no  sooner  had  Mr.  Wiggins  uttered  this 
ejaculation  than  he  repented  of  it.  In  truth  the 
good  man  was  half  ashamed  of  his  infatuation  for 
the  prima  donna.  He  was  a  shrewd,  sharp  man, 
was  N.  B.  Wiggins,  and  whatever  else  up  to  this 
time  might  have  been  laid  to  his  charge,  that  of 
being,  as  he  expressed  it,  a  "  foo-foo  "  had  never 
been.  See  how  she'd  like  Oshkosh  !  The  ques 
tion  more  vital  was  to  see  how  Oshkosh  would 
like  her !  For  be  it  known  to  all  men  that  Osh 
kosh  is  fastidious,  and  one  of  the  proudest  mo 
ments  in  the  career  of  Artemus  Ward  was,  when 
he  was  able  to  quote  from  the  Oshkosh  Courier 
(concerning  his  lecture)  the  profound  endorsement 
— "  We  don't  know  when  we  have  been  more  so." 

"  Perhaps  I  may  come  there  and  sing  some 
times,"  she  answered,  not  taking  his  hint,  and — 
strange  vagaries  of  the  masculine  mind !  this 
greatly  relieved  him.  "  Is  there  an  opera-house 
at  Kosh — how  do  you  say  its  name  ?  " 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  79 

"  Oshkosh.  Yes,  there's  an  opery -house.  We 
had  an  old  hall  there  where  we  held  political  meet 
ings  and  temperance  gatherings  and  so  on,  but 
when  the  lumber  business  got  so  lively  and  people 
made  money,  they  got  kind  o'  stuck  up  and  said 
how  that  the  old  hall  wa'n't  good  enough  for  Osh 
kosh.  Why,  ma'am,  there's  some  of  our  folks 
think  Oshkosh  will  beat  Milwaukee  all  hollow  be 
fore  long  !  I  swan  I  believe  there's  some  think 
they'll  live  to  see  it  take  the  starch  out  of  Chicago. 
Yes,  we  built  an  opery-house.  It  was  all  serene 
at  first ;  the  sanguine  ones  thought  the  spec  was 
going  to  pay  big.  I  never  did,  but  as  an  enter- 
prisin'  citizen,  of  course  I  had  to  take  as  much  of 
the  stock  as  I  felt  able  to  ;  and  now — why,  you 
can  bake  me  in  a  Milwaukee  brick  kiln  if  the 
darned  stock  is  worth  thirty  cents  on  the  dollar  !  " 

It  would  have  been  amusing  to  know  exactly 
what  Madame  Pittaluga  gathered  from  this  recital ; 
but,  with  her  quickness  at  reading  facial  panto 
mime,  she  saw  that  a  catastrophe  was  involved 
somewhere,  and  so  she  shook  her  head  with  a 
despairing  air,  as  who  should  say,  "  This  is  indeed 
terrible  !  You  and  Oshkosh  have  my  profound 
sympathies." 

"  You  see  our  people  air  peculiar  somehow — 
though  there's  some  of  the  nicest  people  in  Osh 
kosh  there  is  in  the  world — still  there  ain't  quite 
enough  of  'em,  to  make  a  fust-class  entertainment 
a  success.  But  let  a  circus  er  a  nigger  show  come 


8o  The  Art  of  Hearts. 

along,  and  they'll  take  money  enough  out  of  the 
town  to  charter  what  rolling  stock  we  want  to 
carry  our  lumber  to  market  in  the  winter  season — 
and  that's  something  purty  hefty,  you  can  bet 
your  bottom  dollar."  But,  feeling  perhaps  that 
this  statement  was  somewhat  exaggerated,  Mr. 
Wiggins  thought  it  necessary  to  modify  it  by 
laughing  slyly  and  winking  his  eye. 

The  game  of  croquet  was  ended,  and  Cornelia 
Cornwallis  and  Mr.  Kalbfleisch  had  come  off  vic 
torious.  Fay  Underhill  had  been  unusually 
quiet  the  whole  morning,  and  Cornelia  said,  when 
she  struck  her  ball  against  the  stake, 

"  Fay  Underhill,  I  believe  you're  cross  because 
Mr.  Kalbfleisch  and  I  have  had  such  a  brilliant 
triumph.  Do  you  want  another  game  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  Cornelia,  I'm  tired.  I  don't 
care  very  much  for  croquet.  Stupid  game, 
rather." 

What  made  the  game  and  everything  else  par 
ticularly  stupid  to  Fay  this  morning  was  that 
Stuart  Phelps,  who  was  usually  lounging  about  the 
parlors  or  piazza  before  they  came  down,  waiting 
to  go  in  to  breakfast  with  them,  was  on  this  morn 
ing  nowhere  to  be  seen,  though  the  sun  showed 
high-noon  and  the  surf  was  now  thronged  with 
bathers.  Where  could  he  be  ?  Fay  asked  her 
self  again  and  again  ;  but  the  shy  puss  was  too 
proud  to  ask  the  question  of  any  one  else. 

Among   these   bright    girls    from    Philadelphia 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  81 

there  was  one  who  read  the  simple  page  of  Fay 
Underhill's  heart  as  easily  as  you  do  this  printed 
one  of  mine  ;  and  Pony  Parsons  was  fond  of  such 
reading.  As  Cornelia  and  Mr.  Kalbfleisch  saun 
tered  beachwards,  Pony  Parsons  and  Fay  Under- 
hill  walked  slowly  behind  them. 

"  Are  you  going  to  bathe,  Fay  !  "  her  mother 
called  out  as  she  passed  ;  but  Fay  shook  her  head 
and  threw  a  kiss  backwards  as  she  continued  her 
walk. 

"  I  know  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Fay. 
You're  mad  because  your  tootsicums  hasn't  put  in 
an  appearance  this  morning." 

"  Pony  Parsons,  where  you  pick  up  such  slang 
is  to  me  a  mystery.  Your  language  is  fairly  un 
intelligible  at  times." 

"Well,  I  will  speak  plainly.  I  will  use  words 
— words  worthy  of  a  philologer,  or  an  ethnol-ibob. 
Your  tootsicums  being  absent,  the  natural  inference 
is  that  something  has  happened  to  him.  Query, 
was  he  on  a  tear  last  night  ?  Did  he  indulge  in  a 
mill,  and  get — " 

"  What  language  to  come  from  a  young  lady's 
lips  !  Who'd  think  your  father  was  one  of  the 
most  eminent  jurists  in  the  country  !  " 

"What  of  that?  Why  fling  my  poor,  erring 
father  in  my  face  ?  I'm  not  a  jurist — never  was, 
never  will  be.  Do  you  think  because  my  father 
is  a  Philadelphia  judge  that  my  literary  fodder 
must  necessarily  be  Poke  upon  Littlestone  or  the 
4* 


82  The  Art  of  Hearts. 

Revised  Statutes  ?  No,  sir !  I  prefer  the  Turf 
and  the  Spirit.  I  forgive  father,  of  course,  but 
one  of  that  sort  in  the  family  is  enough." 

There  was  something  so  amusing  in  this  absurd 
girl — for  it  needs  no  harsher  word  than  "  absurd" 
to  characterize  her — that  Fay,  in  spite  of  the  de 
pression  of  her  spirits,  was  forced  to  laugh,  half 
against  her  will.  Pony  Parsons's  assumption  of 
masculinity  was  absurd  principally  because  she 
was  physically  a  little  midget  of  about  ninety 
pounds'  weight,  with  hands  so  small  she  was  ob 
liged  to  take  children's  sizes  in  gloves  to  fit  her, 
and  feet  which  necessitated  the  same  peculiarity 
in  boots. 

She  affected  the  masculine  in  her  attire  to  as 
great  a  degree  as  her  parents  would  tolerate,  and 
every  day  or  two  would  see  amazement  pictured 
on  their  elderly  faces  at  their  daughter's  "  putting 
in  an  appearance  "  perhaps  at  dinner  when  they 
had  Quaker  friends  as  guests — wearing  some  as 
tonishing  new  device  in  collars,  cut  in  the  fashion 
of  those  of  men,  a  nobby  neck-tie,  sleeve-buttons 
representing  horse-shoes,  or  perhaps  with  her  tiny 
figure  enwrapped  in  a  coarse  pea  jacket  into  whose 
capacious  pockets  her  diminutive  hands  were 
deeply  thrust. 

But,  the  crowning  disgrace  in  the  eyes  of  the 
eminent  jurist  and  his  equally  dignified  wife,  was 
to  meet  their  daughter  in  some  quiet  street — Arch 
Street,  at  any  point,  for  instance — or  on  Walnut 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  83 

above  Broad,  where  Sanctimony  and  the  Proprie 
ties  lurk  in  the  very  air  and  make  it  heavy — driv 
ing  along  at  a  break-neck  pace  in  the  open  buggy, 
holding  the  ribbons  with  the  skill  of  a  professional 
driver,  and  wielding  the  whip  like  an  incipient 
Postilion — of  Lonjumeau  or  elsewhere.  Her  hor 
rified  father  had  taken  her  to  Europe  and  kept 
her  there  at  boarding-school  for  two  years.  "  It 
will  take  a  snaffle-bit  to  hold  the  Pony  now," 
she  averred,  to  one  of  her  most  sanctimonious 
friends.  Punishments  of  all  sorts  had  been  in 
flicted  upon  her.  "  It's  no  use,  father,"  she  would 
say,  rubbing  her  little  pug  nose  against  his  ear, 
"  it's  my  style."  And  the  fond  father  would  kiss 
her  heartily,  and  say,  "  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  put 
up  with  your  '  style,'  as  you  call  it." 

Pony's  name — ah  yes,  I  am  sure  you  have  been 
wondering  about  that  odd  name  of  hers — but,  in 
truth,  she  was  christened  Susan.  One  day  her 
father  said  to  her,  "  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Susie, — 
you're  my  pony, — my  little,  frisky,  skittish  pony 
that  I  can't  break  in,  do  what  I  will." 

And  bursting  with  laughter  the  little  creature 
broke  from  his  arms  and  galloping  around  the  room 
in  frantic  imitation  of  a  young  horse,  holding  the 
reins  of  an  imaginary  steed  and  flourishing  an 
equally  visionary  whip,  she  began  to  sing 


"  Pony  Parsons  is  my  name  ! 
Pony  Parsons  is  my  name  I " 


84  The  Art  of  Hearts. 

"  Good  gracious,  Susie,  do  be  quiet,"  cried  her 
father;  "you'll  have  the  neighbors  in  to  know 
what  on  earth's  the  matter."  But  from  that,  out, 
the  sobriquet  of  "Pony  "  clung  to  the  girl  persist 
ently. 

"  And  Pony  I  will  ever  be  even  if  I  get  married 
a  THOUSAND  times,"  she  cried. 

The  truth  is  that  Pony  Parsons  was  as  harmless 
as  a  kitten — and  very  lovable  too — when,  as  often 
happened,  she  would  throw  aside  her  "  style,"  and 
show  herself  as  what  she  was,  a  good-hearted,  hon 
orable  girl,  who  hated  lies  and  all  deceptions  with 
a  fury  which  covered  a  host  of  faults.  Her  father 
and  Mr.  Underhill  had  been  friends  before  she  was 
born,  and  to  attempt  to  set  up  a  coldness  between 
the  girls  now,  on  account  of  Pony's  absurdities, 
would  have  been  an  insult  to  Mr.  Parsons  which 
Mr.  Underhill  would  hardly  have  inflicted  on  his 
old  friend  even  if  his  daughter  had  been  guilty  of  a 
real  crime ;  but  no  girl  was  farther  removed  from 
such  a  possibility.  "  Still,"  Mrs.  Underhill  some 
times  said  to  her  husband,  "I'm  glad  Fay  is  not 
like  that." 

While  Fay  was  seated  on  the  crowded  beach  in 
too  moping  a  mood  even  to  go  in  bathing,  Stuart 
Phelps,  in  his  room  on  the  top  floor  of  the  hotel,  was 
languidly  brushing  his  hair  and  yawning  at  the 
shadow  of  himself  in  the  glass  which  looked  out  at 
him  as  stupidly  as  he  looked  in  at  it.  He  had  not 
slept  much  during  the  night ;  it  was  not  until  day- 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  85 

break  that  he  had  been  able  to  drive  away  the  vivid 
remembrance  of  the  scene  with  Mrs.  Duncan  on 
the  beach ;  to  silence  her  tender  voice  repeating 
the  story  of  her  heart's  longing,  which  had  said  to 
him  as  plainly  as  any  words  could  do,  "  I  love 
you  " — and  although  he  did  not  admit  this  to  him 
self,  even  in  thought,  yet  he  felt  it — he  knew  it — 
and  deceived  himself  grossly  in  not  plainly  con 
fessing  it  to  his  own  conscience.  Then  he  fell  into 
heavy  slumber  and  wild  dreams,  now  of  joy,  now 
of  terrible  anguish,  in  all  of  which  Mrs.  Duncan 
figured,  and  which  so  tortured  his  brain  that  every 
time  he  awakened  he  rejoiced  to  find  this  was  but 
a  dream  ;  and  resolved  to  sleep  no  more.  Then 
dozed  again  ;  again  waked ;  and  so  the  morning 
had  fled. 

"  Now  it's  so  late  I  shall  get  no  breakfast,"  he 
muttered,  prosaically. 

A  rap  at  the  door. 

"Come  in." 

A  colored  servant,  with  boots  in  one  hand,  and 
a  letter  in  the  other. 

Boots  and  a  love-letter  !  Leather  and  a  heart's 
passion  !  Ah  well,  life  is  full  of  this  pitiless  sort 
of  satire. 

"  I  blacked  your  boots,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "  and 
I  found  this  stuck  under  the  door." 

"  So  Mrs.  Duncan  did  not  give  her  letter  to  a 
man  who  was  fetching  up  my  boots,"  Stuart 
thought,  and  was  thankful  for  it ;  and  made  his 


86  The  Art  of  Hearts. 

douceur  to  the  servant  larger  than  he  otherwise 
would.  We  like  to  be  romantic,  when  we  can. 

He  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Duncan's  handwriting 
in  his  life  ;  and  yet  he  knew  instinctively  that  the 
letter  he  held  in  his  hand  was  from  her. 

"  Stuart  Phelps,"  began  the  letter.  Stuart 
whisked  over  the  leaf  and  saw  there  were  four 
closely  written  pages ;  and  it  is  a  fact  worthy  to  be 
remarked  in  the  history  of  this  experience,  that, 
even  at  this  point,  after  this  beautiful  woman  had 
opened  her  heart  to  him,  showed  him  she  loved 
him,  almost  supplicated  love  in  return,  he  heaved 
a  deep  sigh  of  fatigue  as  he  contemplated  the  task 
of  reading  her  effusion  ;  and  even  took  out  his 
watch  and  wondered  whether  he  might  not  better 
try  yet  to  get  some  breakfast,  and  leave  the  read 
ing  till  some  other  time. 

It  was  too  late  for  breakfast ;  and  Stuart  saun 
tered  out  upon  the  piazza.,  and  seeing  the  two 
chairs  in  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Underhill  had  lately 
sat  so  comfortably  placed  together,  the  young 
gentleman  seated. himself  in  one,  put  his  feet  upon 
the  rounds  of  the  other,  and  leaned  back  in  that 
degagc- — I  might  say  national — attitude,  which 
causes  caricaturists  to  represent  the  typical 
American  as  a  man  reading  a  newspaper  with  his 
feet  on  the  mantlepiece. 

"I  cannot  tell  you,"  the  letter  said,  "what  a 
night  I  have  passed  !  Oh,  if  you  knew  how  in 
tensely  reticent  I  am  by  nature,  then  you  would 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  87 

appreciate  the  depth  of  sadness  which  made  me 
pour  into  your  ears  last  night  the  story  of  a  heart 
to  whose  sufferings  you  may  be  hopelessly  indiffer 
ent.  Yet  it  cannot  be  possible  that  this  is  so. 
You  seem  different  from  all  other  men  whom  it 
has  been  my  lot  to  encounter  in  life  hitherto.  I 
have  tried  to  analyze  the  unwonted  impulse  of  my 
heart  which  made  me  speak  to  you  so  freely  last 
night.  It  is  not  like  me  to  speak  thus  to  one  who 
is,  after  all,  a  comparative  stranger.  Oh,  how  can 
I  call  you  so?  You  a  stranger  ?  No,  no  !  If  it 
be  overbold  in  me  to  say  so — I  cannot  help  it — for 
you  have  saved  my  life,  and  while  I  have  a  woman's 
heart  and  a  woman's  undying  gratitude  I  can  never 
forget  that  fact — never  look  upon  you  with  the 
cold,  formal  gaze  of  stranger  unto  stranger.  In 
the  hour  when  you  rescued  me  from  the  jaws  of 
death,  Stuart  Phelps,  you  gave  me  a  claim  upon 
your  charity,  your  forbearance,  which  you  may  be 
forced  to  exercise.  Why  did  yo^l  bring  me  back 
to  a  life  which  had  no  joy  in  it  for  me  ?  " 

"  Puzzling  question,  rather,"  muttered  Stuart, 
dropping  the  hand  which  held  the  letter,  and  gazing 
out  seaward  in  a  meditative  manner.  In  the  deli 
cate  meshes  of  feeling  which  Mrs.  Duncan  was  en 
twining  about  him  his  struggles  were  of  the  gen 
tlest,  it  must  be  confessed.  If  he  had  been  less  in 
nocent  he  would  have  been  more  wise,  perhaps. 

He  resumed  his  reading  :  "  Whenever  you  wish 
it — whenever  you  will  give  me  the  opportunity — I 


88  The  Art  of  Hearts, 

will  relate  to  you  fully  the  history  of  my  life,  and 
then  you  will  learn  how  cruelly  I  have  been  de 
ceived,  my  highest  hopes  frustrated,  my  noblest 
dreams  dispelled.  These  are  the  things  which  have 
made  me  a  poor  wanderer — poor  I  mean  in  heart, 
in  love,  for  in  worldly  goods  I  am  rich  enough — a 
wanderer  over  the  earth,  unloving  and  unloved. 
These  are  strange  words  for  a  woman  like  me  to 
write ;  but  I  feel  no  hesitation  in  sending  you  this 
letter,  although  I  have  no  certainty  that  you  will 
not  show  it  about  among  your  friends,  boast  of  it, 
perhaps.  Ah  no,  I  wrong  you.  Forgive  me  ! 
Forgive  me  !  " 

Here  Stuart  paused,  and  thoughtfully  twisted  his 
moustache  for  a  few  minutes  before  resuming  : 

"  I  know  your  heart  is  too  gentle  to  do  that 
which  would  cause  me  shame  and  humiliation  ;  and 
it  is  to  that  good  heart  I  appeal  when  I  ask  you  to 
answer  my  letter.  Give  me  one  word — only  one 
word — of  kindness  to  soothe  my  tortured  spirit." 

There  was  much  more  of  the  same  sort,  but  it  is 
entirely  unnecessary  to  repeat  it  here.  When  the 
young  man  reached  the  end  of  the  epistle,  he  fell 
to  whistling  gently  to  himself  as  he  folded  it  up 
and  tucked  it  in  his  vest  pocket.  Then,  as  if  sud 
denly  struck  with  the  idea  that  the  letter  was — 
though  perfectly  harmless,  certainly — not  a  bit  of 
harm  in  it,  of  course — yet  not  precisely  the  kind  of 
letter  he  should  like  to  have  drop  out  of  his  vest 
pocket  on  the  lawn,  where  Fay  might  find  it,  per- 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  89 

haps.  It  was  signed  "  Diana  Duncan,"  in  a  neat 
and  legible  hand.  On  the  whole,  the  letter  would 
be  safer  in  an  inner  breast  pocket  of  his  coat.  He 
put  it  there,  and  sauntered  into  the  public  room 
where  there  were  writing  materials  for  gentlemen's 
use.  After  balancing  a  pen  on  his  finger  for  a  few 
minutes,  he  wrote  : 

"DEAR  MADAM: — I  received  your  letter. 
Please  don't  write  me  any  more  such  letters.  I 
don't  approve  of  such  letters."  Then  feeling  that 
there  was  repetition  somewhere,  he  stopped  and 
read  what  he  had  written.  Having  done  so  he  tore 
it  into  small  bits,  and  sprinkled  the  bits  into  a  ca 
pacious  India-rubber  spittoon  which  stood  near  his 
chair. 

"MRS.  DUNCAN,"  he  began  again.  "  I  received 
yours.  I  must  ask  you  please — not  to  write  me 
again.  I  don't  approve — " 

"  Heavens  !  "  he  exclaimed,  rising  and  going  to 
the  window,  and  gazing  into  recesses  of  the  hotel 
where  a  dish-washing,  enormous  enough  for  a 
giant's  table,  was  going  on,  without  taking  in  the 
least  detail  of  it,  any  more  than  if  he  had  been  a 
blind  man.  "  What  a  prig  she'll  think  me  if  I 
send  that  letter  !  It  reads  like  a  school-girl  writing 
to  a  naughty  man  to  '  please  don't.'  Jove  !  I'm 
not  going  to  make  an  ass  of  myself,  if  I  am  engaged 
to  be  married  !  " 

With  that  he  sat  down  again  and  wrote  this  : 


9O  The  Art  of  Hearts. 

"  DEAR  MRS.  DUNCAN  : — I  appreciate  the  con 
fidence  you  are  so  good  as  to  place  in  me,  and  I 
trust  I  may  do  nothing  to  prove  that  I  am  un 
worthy  of  it,  or  capable  in  any  way  of  dishonora 
ble  conduct.  I  am  sorry  you  have  suffered  and 
are  unhappy."  He  dropped  the  pen,  and  sat 
thinking  for  an  instant.  "  What  shall  I  say  next  ?  " 
he  muttered.  "  I  never  wrote  such  a  letter  in  my 
life — don't  believe  many  other  fellows  ever  did, 
either.  I  must  wind  it  up  somehow."  Thereupon 
he  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink,  and  added — not  too 
wisely — "  If  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you  in  any 
way,  pray  command  me.  And  believe  me  to  be, 
"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"  STUART  PHELPS." 

Slipping  this  precious  missive  into  an  envelope 
he  addressed  it,  sealed  it,  and  carried  it  to  the 
clerk. 

"  Oh,  say,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  delightfully  off 
hand  manner,  although  he  felt  confident  the  puis 
sant  seigneur  of  a  clerk  was  reading  him,  as  well 
as  the  address  of  the  letter,  through  and  through, 
"  will  you  just  put  that  in  the  lady's  box  ?  " 

"  Send  it  to  her  room,"  said  the  clerk  opening 
his  hand  and  letting  it  fall  on  a  little  alarm  bell 
which  stood  at  his  side.  A  colored  servant  ap 
proached — and  the  letter  was  gone. 

Stuart  stepped  out  on  the  piazza..  Then  came 
sober  second-thought.  "I  don't  see  what  I  an- 


The  Art  of  Hearts.  91 

swered  that  letter  at  all  for !  I  might  have  let  it 
go  unanswered." 

At  this  moment  Fay  turned  the  corner  of  the 
seaward  piazza.  Seeing  Stuart  she  ran  towards 
him  with  outstretched  hands.  The  sight  of  her 
was  so  delightful  to  him,  so  restful  to  his  spirit,  so 
gratifying  to  every  pure  instinct  of  his  being,  that 
it  was  with  difficulty  he  refrained  from  catching  her 
up  in  his  arms  and  rapturously  kissing  her,  in  sight 
of  the  score  or  more  of  ladies  who  were  to  be 
seen  inside  the  drawing-room  drearily  yawning 
through  the  open  windows — among  whom  was  the 
blue-blooded  Mrs.  Barham,  sitting  as  usual — in  her 
own  opinion  at  least — "  high  on  a  throne  of  royal 
state." 

"Why,  Stuart,  where  have  you  been  all  the 
morning  ?  "  cried  Fay  ;  "  but  no  matter,  you'll  tell 
me  that  in  the  carriage.  For  you'll  come  drive 
with  us,  won't  you  ?  Our  carriage  is  here.  Papa 
don't  go  to  town  to-day,  so  we'll  be  just  four — and 
no  intruders." 

That  sent  his  thought  back  to  Mrs.  Duncan,  and 
a  slight  frown  lingered  for  an  instant  on  his  brow. 
The  next,  it  was  gone — and  he  was  in  the  carriage 
beside  Fay,  his  darling  Fay.  How  pure,  and 
fresh  and  sweet  she  looked  ! 

Leaving  the  ocean  drive,  Mr.  Underhill's  coach 
man  turned  the  horses'  heads  towards  the  interior, 
and  for  hours  they  drove  about  through  those 
charming  rural  lanes  which  half  the  people  who 


92  The  Art  of  Hearts. 

flock  to  Long  Branch  never  see.  Astonishing 
stories  of  improvements,  magical  almost  as  the 
transformations  of  Aladdin's  lamp,  Mr.  Underhill 
had  to  tell.  He  had  known  Long  Branch  for 
years,  and  might  now  be,  he  dared  not  say  how 
much  richer  than  he  was,  if  he  had  bought  exten 
sively  of  its  cheap  lands  a  decade  ago.  A  cottage 
— Mr.  Underhill  priced  it  yesterday — with  its  sur 
rounding  grounds  was  now  held  at  $42,000;  and 
last  year  its  present  owner  had  bought  it  for 
$25,000.  The  land  on  which  it  stood  was  sold 
ten  years  ago  for  $600.  But  who  could  have  fore 
seen  that  this  bit  of  Jersey  sea-front  would  ever  be 
the  great  marine  suburb  of  New  York  ! 

"  To  own  a  cottage  and  grounds  at  Long  Branch 
would  be  pleasant,  I  confess,"  said  Stuart,  looking 
at  his  watch,  "yet  there  is  another  enjoyment — 
far  less  costly — which  I  shall  not  disdain  when  it 
offers." 

"  What  is  that?  "  asked  Mrs.  Underhill. 

"  My  dinner.  It  is  now  after  four,  and  I've  had 
no  breakfast." 

Mrs.  Underhill  was  shocked — Fay  was  horrified  ! 
— they  were  afraid  the  dear  boy  would  faint  from 
inanition,  before  they  could  arrive  at  the  hotel ; 
but  the  dear  boy  survived  to  prove  once  more  that 
appetite  is  the  best  sauce. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
MEN'S  WAYS. 

ANOTHER  accomplishment  (besides  pork  pack 
ing)  which  Mr.  Hermann  Kalbfleisch  possessed, 
was  that  of  singing,  in  a  rich  tenor  voice,  sweet 
little  German  love-songs.  As  soon  as  the  girls 
discovered  this,  you  can  imagine  how  they  plied 
him  for  songs  !  "  Another!"  and  "just  another !" 
and  so  it  was  that  the  strains  of  Abt  and  other 
melodious  Germans  rippled  in  lyrical  flow  again 
and  again  in  the  Long  Branch  parlor. 

Now  it  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  somehow  or 
other,  whenever  there  was  anything  particularly 
loving  in  the  song  he  was  singing,  Hermann's  eyes 
almost  invariably  turned  in  the  direction  where 
Pony  Parsons  happened  to  be  sitting.  Seeing  this, 
Pony  felt  it  her  duty  to  respond  in  some  way  to 
his  attentions,  and  generally  did  so  by  squinting 
at  him  in  her  most  saucy  manner  when  she  thought 
he  was  not  looking  ;  a  proceeding  which  nearly 
convulsed  the  other  girls  with  laughter.  Cornelia 
Cornwallis  protested  against  it. 

"  I  do  assure  you,  Pony,"  said  the  stately  Cor 
nelia,  "such  conduct  is  intolerable.  It  is  as  much 


94  Men's  Ways. 

as  I  can  do  to  keep  from  laughing  at  your  tricks, 
and  to  do  that  while  that  charming  young  man  is 
singing  so  sweetly — and  merely  for  our  gratifica 
tion  too — is  the  greatest  breach  of  good  manners 
possible.  I  wish  you  would  stop  it.  I  don't  like 
to  say  anything  harsh,  but  still  I  must  tell  you 
that  your  squinting  in  that  frightful  way  behind 
Mr.  Kalbfleisch's  back  is  very  unladylike." 

But  as  the  days  rolled  by  there  came  a  change  in 
Pony's  manner.  Whether  it  was  Cornelia's  severe 
demeanor,  or  the  conviction  that  even  a  pony  has 
duties  to  the  society  in  which  it  moves,  or  some 
thing  as  yet  undefined,  Pony's  eyes  forgot  to 
squint  while  Hermann  was  singing,  and  sometimes 
one  would  have  thought  that  they  were  actually 
looking  at  him  in  a  tender  and  sentimental  manner. 
This  seemed  incredible,  and  perhaps  it  was  a  mis 
take  ;  but  Fay  Underhill  mentioned  it  to  Cornelia 
and  Cornelia  said  she  had  observed  it  also. 

One  afternoon  when  they  were  sitting  around 
the  piano,  Fay  holding  a  book  of  newly  published 
poems  which  Stuart  had  lately  given  her,  Stuart 
himself  in  a  thoughtful  posture  on  the  sofa,  Cor 
nelia  ensconced  in  an  easy-chair  with  a  piece  of 
worsted-work  in  her  lap  as  interminable  as  Pene 
lope's  tapestry  (for  her  working  at  it  averaged 
about  ten  stitches  a  month),  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Under 
hill  and  Mrs.  Barham  present,  and  a  background 
of  hotel  guests  to  complete  the  picture,  Hermann 
Kalbfleisch  sat  at  the  piano,  his  strong  white  fingers 


Men's  Ways.  95 

skillfully  running  over  the  keys,  and  his  mellow 
voice  reaching  successive  high  notes  in  an  ecstatic 
love-song,  clear  and  true  as  a  chime  of  silver  bells. 
Pony  was  standing  leaning  on  the  piano  in  front  of 
him,  and  as  usual,  his  eyes  wandered  continually 
to  her,  while  the  cry  to  his  beloved,  his  "liebe 
kleine,"  filled  the  air  with  melody. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  ;  leaning  over  the  key 
board  he  folded  his  arms,  and  resting  them  on  the 
little  space  by  the  music-rack,  said,  with  a  frank 
smile  : 

"  Miss  Pony,  vat  vor  you  don't  poke  your  eyes 
to  your  nose  any  more  ven  I  sing  de  little  Yarman 
love-song  ?  " 

Pony  was  startled — Pony  looked  as  if  she  were 
going  to  bolt ;  but  Hermann  held  the  skittish 
creature  with  a  gentle  rein.  The  girls  laughed— 
and  Hermann's  silvery  laugh  rang  out  louder  than 
the  rest.  When  Pony  saw  he  was  not  angry  she 
looked  relieved. 

"  Ah,  you  tink  I  don't  saw  you  once,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  did  ;  I  saw  you  most  efery  time,  sticking 
your  little  eyes  to  see  vere  your  nose  vas  gone  to. 
First  I  said  to  myself,  '  Hermann  Kalbfleisch,  did 
you  sing  dat  little  song  avay  from  de  time,  or  de 
tune,  or  into  de  wrong  key  ?  '  So  Hermann  said 
to  me  '  No,  all  right.'  So  den  I  say  dat  nice  little 
young  lady  make  fun  by  me.  Not  ?  " 

Pony  Parsons,  with  her  faculty  for  "reading" 
people,  read  here  a  nature  so  sweet  and  ingenuous, 


g6  Men's  Ways. 

and — or  else  her  reading  was  very  much  at  fault — • 
so  partial  to  her  withal,  that  she  could  have  applied 
whip  and  spur  to  her  very  self  by  way  of  punish 
ment  for  having  even  for  an  instant  cast  ridicule 
upon  him.  The  truth  is,  from  the  very  first  she 
had  liked  him  marvelously  well — a  character  so 
sympathetic  and  tender  as  his  ingratiated  itself 
without  difficulty  into  sterner  hearts  than  that 
which  Pony  bore  in  her  little  bosom  ;  but  the  fear 
of  being  made  fun  of  by  "  the  girls  "  was  so  terri 
ble  to  this  remorseless  fun-maker  herself  that  she 
often  took  this  means  of  heading  them  off.  The 
cruel  inventor  of  the  absurd  nickname,  "  Tootsi- 
cums  " — which  she  mercilessly  applied  to  every  gal 
lant  who  bowed  the  knee  to  the  charms  of  her 
companions — now  saw  a  prospective  horror  in 
being  taunted  with  the  existence  of  a  Tootsicums 
of  her  own.  And  a  German  Tootsicums  !  One 
whose  twists  of  the  language  were  sometimes  very 
funny — indeed,  very  frequently  so,  to  a  party  of 
giggling  girls.  Oh  no  ;  she  must  disclaim  -this 
Tootsicums,  even  if  she  had  to  do  it  by  the  novel 
and  beautiful  process  of  squinting  when  he  sang. 

This  was  her  first  idea  ;  but  little  by  little  his 
sunny  nature  warmed  her  very  soul,  and  instead  of 
standing  behind  him  and  squinting,  or  fiddling  on 
imaginary  instruments,  by  way  of  accompaniment 
to  his  harmonious  chords,  Pony  found  herself,  to 
her  own  astonishment,  leaning  on  the  piano  in 
front  of  the  young  German  in  the  manner  already 


Men's  Ways.  97 

mentioned,  eagerly  drinking  down  every  sound  he 
uttered,  or  standing  beside  him,  her  trim  little 
Byron-like  head,  with  its  mass  of  short  dark  ring 
lets,  swaying  in  time  with  the  measure  he  was  play 
ing. 

"You  make  very  sweet  music,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Underhill  to  Hermann,  while  the  tenderness  of  the 
garden  scene  in  Faust  softly  rose  from  the  keys. 

Hermann  inclined  his  blonde  head  forward;  and 
the  pink  flush  on  his  cheek  grew  a  little  deeper, 
perhaps,  with  gratification,  as  he  replied  : 

"  I  tank  you.  I  am  very  glad  if  it  gif  you 
bleasure." 

"  The  Germans  of  the  upper  classes,"  said  Mrs. 
Barham,  in  a  peculiar  drawl,  which  invariably  an 
nounced  some  blue-bloody  talk;  "the  Germans 
of  the  upper  classes,"  and  here  she  bobbed  her 
head  up  and  down  in  a  system  of  telegraphy  all 
her  own  at  Hermann,  who  was  now  trying  to  re 
member  something  difficult,  and,  not  succeeding 
immediately,  was  frowning  at  the  keys,  his  atten 
tion  wholly  engrossed,  "  the  Germans  of  the  upper 
classes,  I  repeat,  are  always  fine  musicians  ;  is  it 
not  so,  Hermann  ?  " 

"  Was  ist  das?  Oh  ja — yes,"  he  replied,  "I 
subbose  so.  Dem  hev  blenty  money  und  blenty 
time  for  study  music  das  is  not  so  wonderful  dat 
dem  upper  glasses  is  good  musicians.  I  subbose 
dem  is  good  musicians.  I  bin  tole  so.  I  don't 
know  much  about  dem  upper  glasses  in  Yarmany 
5 


98  Men's  Ways. 

myself,"  he  went  on,  with  his  musical  laugh  ;  "  I 
never  see  him.  My  fader — das  is  Mrs.  Barham's 
half-uncle — he  was  a  poor  man  mit  little  vineyard 
on  de  Rhine,  und  I  was  poor  little  boy  mit  wooden 
shoes  on  till  I  come  to  dis  country ; "  and  here  he 
struck  out  on  a  glorious  bit  of  Beethoven,  with  his 
face  lifted  upwards  in  a  rapturous  musical  ecstasy, 
as  unconscious  of  the  writhings  of  the  mortified 
Mrs.  Barham  as  if  she  had  at  that  moment  been 
planting  in  a  vineyard  on  the  Rhine,  while  he  was 
playing  Beethoven  on  a  Long  Branch  piano. 

' '  How  did  you  learn  music  so  well,  then  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Underbill. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  modestly. 
"  I  don't  play  so  very  correct — but  I  got  music  in 
my  soul,  I  subbose.  De  first  time  I  efer  see  a 
piano,  I  yoost  sit  down  und  blay  a  little  someding. 
Den  ven  I  gits  money  enough  from  my  beesiness 
in  Chicago,  I  buys  a  few  books  und  a  piano,  und 
haf  a  vriend  vot  gif  lessons,  come  to  my  room, 
und  show  me  somedings.  Den,  ven  I  learn  dem 
rudiments,  it  is  so  easy,  so  easy  !  "  and  one  of 
Chopin's  Polonaises  danced  brilliantly  on  the  key 
board. 

Delighted,  they  kept  silence  ;  and  when  it  was 
over  Stuart  Phelps,  who  had  been  mute  as  a 
mouse  the  whole  morning,  occupied  with  thoughts 
he  would  not  willingly  have  had  read  by  that  com 
pany,  felt  the  spirit  move  him  to  say  something, 
and  he  said  it : 


Men's  Ways.  99 

"  Were  you  in  the  pork-packing  business  before 
you  went  to  Chicago,  Mr.  Kalbfleisch  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "I  git  into  de  pork-pack 
ing  beesiness  gradually  after  I  go  to  Chicago  ;  " 
then  he  added  proudly,  "  I  subbose  dere  is  more 
hogs  in  Chicago  as  in  any  odder  city  in  de  world." 

There  was  an  amused  titter  at  this,  Mrs.  Barham 
impatiently  beating  her  closed  fan  against  her 
finger-tips  while  it  lasted.  The  titter,  the  hogs, 
the  wooden  shoes,  the  vineyard  on  the  Rhine,  and 
the  story  of  Hermann's  poverty  told  by  himself, 
were  sore  trials  to  the  patience  of  the  blue-blooded 
grocer's  granddaughter.  Abruptly  and  absurdly 
feigning  a  headache,  she  arose  and  walked  out  on 
the  lawn,  twirling  her  parasol  around  and  around 
as  it  rested  on  her  shoulder,  with  a  petulance 
which  vanished  like  mist  before  the  sun  when  the 
carriage  of  some  of  the  aristocratic  cottagers 
passed,  and  its  occupants  bestowed  upon  her  a 
gracious  bow. 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  swinishness  to  be 
seen  everywhere  in  this  country  if  you  look  for  it," 
said  Cornelia  Cornwallis,  leaning  back  comfortably 
in  her  chair  and  folding  her  shapely  hands  in  her 
lap — the  Penelopean  worsted  work  already  laid 
aside. 

"  So?"  said  the  German  in  some  doubt,  as  not 
exactly  comprehending. 

"And  as  much  at  Long  Branch  as  elsewhere," 
added  Cornelia. 


zoo  Men's  Ways. 

"That  is  true,  Cornelia,"  said  Mrs.  Underbill ; 
"  I  declare  I  never  in  my  life  saw  such  utte.r  pig- 
gishness  as  is  to  be  encountered  at  every  meal  at 
the  table  at  this  house." 

"  This  house  !  "  ejaculated  Stuart,  "  This  house  ! 
Good  gracious  !  You  ought  to  take  dinner  at  the 
Greatenormous  once  !  Then  you'd  see.  Why,  the 
manners  of  this  house  are  as  those  of  Chesterfield 
la  comparison." 

"Then  I  beg  you'll  never  invite  me  to  dinner 
there,  Stuart,"  said  the  elderly  lady. 

"  No  more  watering-place  life  for  me,  after  this 
season,"  said  Mr.  Underhill.  "I'll  buy  a  little 
box  of  my  own  in  the  country  and  take  my  family 
there." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Pony,  tossing  her  head  some 
what  viciously,  "  I  wouldn't  let  my  father  do  that." 

Mr.  Underhill  burst  out  laughing. 

"  There's  a  girl  of  the  period  for  you,"  ex 
claimed  he  ;  "  she  wouldn't  let  her  father  do  any 
thing  he  liked  !  " 

A  graceful  couple,  arm-in-arm,  passed  through 
the  drawing-room  out  upon  the  lawn  and  so  in 
the  direction  of  the  other  hotels.  Cornelia  Corn- 
wallis  bowed  and  smiled  to  them  ;  and  the  gentle 
man  raised  his  hat  and  gave  it  so  graceful  a  swing 
before  he  replaced  it,  that  it  seemed  a  cavalier's 
salute  which  included  every  lady  present. 

"  How  sweet  that  dark-eyed  girl  is  !"  said  Mrs. 
Underhill,  as  they  walked  away. 


Men's  Ways.  101 

"  I  think  the  gentleman  is  splendiferous,"  said 
Pony. 

"Who  are  they,  Cornelia?"  asked  Fay 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randolph  Cabell,  of  Georgia — 
old  friends  of  our  family.  Their  plantation  adjoins 
ours — that  is,  it  did,  in  the  pecunious  days  when 
we  had  a  plantation — which  time  I  suppose  you 
are  aware  is  past  and  gone." 

The  Cornwallis  family  of  Philadelphia  belonged 
to  that  small  class  of  wealthy  exclusives  who  had 
inherited  not  only  large  estates  in  Pennsylvania, 
but  fine  rice  and  cotton  plantations  in  the  South  as 
well.  The  war  had  made  sad  havoc  with  these 
estates,  and  rather  than  encounter  a  different  order 
of  things  to  that  which  they  had  hitherto  known, 
the  Cornwallises  had  sold  their  plantations  at  great 
loss.  Cornelia  was  known  as  "a  bit  of  a  reb  " 
among  the  girls. 

"  The  lady  is  very  beautiful,"  said  Stuart  Phelps. 

"  All  the  female  rebs  are  pretty,"  said  Pony, 
pinching  the  cheek  of  the  fair  Cornelia. 

"Were  you  a  rebel,  Cornelia?"  asked  Mrs. 
Underhill.  "I  say  'were'  because,  happily,  all 
that  has  passed  away  now." 

"Why,  yes,  ma'am  ;  I  must  say  I  naturally  re 
belled  against  having  two  hundred  thousand  dol 
lars  taken  out  of  my  pocket  as  it  was  when  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  floated  over  the  Georgia  coast. 
One  does  not  welcome  poverty  without  some  re 
bellion  of  spirit." 


IO2  Men's  Ways. 

"  I'm  sorry  you're  so  poor,"  said  Fay,  her  fin 
gers  slightly  touching  a  costly  lace  jacket,  fine  as 
a  cobweb,  which  Cornelia  was  wearing  at  the  mo 
ment. 

"Another  of  my  plans  for  the  future,"  said 
Mr.  Underhill,  "is  to  travel  through  the  South; 
a  part  of  the  country  I've  never  seen." 

"  I  don't  believe  you'll  like  it,"  said  Cornelia. 

"Indeed?     But  you  do." 

"Oh  yes,  I  like  it  very  much;  but  then  I'm 
different.  You're  a  rich,  money-making  New- 
Yorker.  I'm  a  quiet  Philadelphia  girl  with  a  spice 
of  the  Italian  love  for  the  dolce  far  niente  in  my 
nature.  I  like  the  South — the  climate  is  so  deli 
cious." 

"  But  surely,  Cornelia,  you  don't  like  the  food  ! 
Hog  and  hominy  !  Ugh  !  "  said  Pony. 

"  Dem  nice  fat  clean  hog  like  we  have  in 
Chicago  is  very  goot,"  said  Mr.  Kalbfleisch,  who 
had  left  the  piano  and  become  an  interested  listen 
er  to  the  conversation. 

"  A  strict  utilitarian  like  yourself,  Mr.  Under 
hill,  would  be  horrified  at  the  slow  movements, 
the  lack  of '  vim,'  '  push/  '  snap,'  and  whatever 
else  you  call  it  which  has  made  the  history  of 
these  Northern  States  the  wonder  of  the  world," 
continued  Cornelia.  "  Chicago  is  a  great  place  ; 
so  is  New  York — in  a  comparative  degree  after 
Chicago,  of  course " — this  with  a  sly  look  at 
Kalbfleisch — "  but  when  one  gets  tired  of  the  lo- 


Men's  Ways.  103 

comotive  speed  of  these  cities,  it  is  amazingly 
restful  to  light  upon  some  little  Southern  village  as 
lively  as  a  snail,  with  its  scores  of  tattered  negroes 
sunning  themselves  around  the  Court  House  steps, 
and  its  dignified  '  Colonels '  and  '  Judges '  whose 
clothes  are  rather  shabby,  but  whose  manners  are 
grand." 

"Yes,"  said  Stuart;  "your  speaking  of  their 
manners  makes  me  think  of  a  Southerner  I  know, 
a  lawyer — who  every  time  he  says  '  good-day,' 
slips  his  left  hand  in  the  breast  of  his  buttoned 
frock-coat  and  spreads  open  the  fingers  of  his  right 
with  the  palm  outwards — for  all  the  world  as 
Henry  Clay  did  when  in  the  act  of  delivering  his 
most  flowery  orations." 

Those  who  were  looking  or  cared  to  observe  it 
might  have  seen  the  spectacled  and  pitted  Marcia 
come  and  stand  for  a  while  on  the  piazza  and  look 
out  restlessly  towards  the  restless  sea.  None  but 
Stuart  Phelps  saw  her  lift  her  hand  in  the  air,  a  bit 
of  paper  rustling  between  her  thin  fingers. 

When  she  had  disappeared,  Stuart  asked  those 
present  to  excuse  him.  Five  minutes  after,  Marcia 
overtaken,  the  bit  of  paper  read,  he  knocked  at  a 
door  in  the  hotel. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE   CHARM   OF  A   WOMAN'S   EYES. 

THIS  was  the  interview  long  prayed  for  by  the 
beautiful  widow,  in  which  she  was  to  tell  Stuart 
Phelps  the  story  of  her  life.  Some  days  had 
elapsed  since  that  on  which  Stuart  had  answered 
Mrs.  Duncan's  letter,  and  other  letters  had  passed 
between  them  since.  Every  one  of  these  Stuart 
had  read  or  written  with  a  groan  of  annoyance, 
hoping  that  this  at  least  would  be  the  last.  But 
whatever  his  feelings  in  regard  to  this  correspond 
ence — which  certainly  had  been  none  of  his  seek 
ing — it  was  this  which  had  succeeded  in  now 
drawing  him  to  her  private  parlor,  pledged  to  lis 
ten  to  some  tale  which  might  take  hours  in  the 
telling,  might  or  might  not  be  true,  and  true  or 
false  was — or  should  have  been — of  no  import  to 
him. 

The  analyzing  of  the  exact  state  of  his  feeling 
for  Mrs.  Duncan  had  occupied  Stuart  Phelps's 
thoughts  during  many  a  moment  when  Fay  won 
dered  what  made  him  so  taciturn,  and  had  on  this 
very  day  caused  the  innocent  and  unsuspicious 
girl  a  vague  fear  that  her  conversation  and  that  of 


The  Charm  of  a  Woman's  Eyes.          105 

her  friends  and  acquaintances  was  not  brilliant  and 
entertaining  enough  for  the  lover  whose  mental 
qualifications  she  esteemed  of  the  highest.  Little 
did  she  guess  what  lofty  question  those  mental 
qualifications  were  engaged  upon.  Nothing  more 
nor  less  than  this  vital  one  :  Ought  I  to  con 
tinue  my  acquaintance  with  the  beautiful  Mrs. 
Duncan  ? 

In  her  presence,  with  her  violet  eyes  fastened 
on  his  face,  her  soft  voice  cooing  her  lovelessness 
— which  in  his  secret  soul  he  knew  meant  simply 
her  love  for  him,  and  which  had  been  the  refrain  ever 
repeated  of  her  siren's  song  since — was  it  after  the 
escape  from  drowning,  or  did  it  begin  before  ? — he 
felt  all  sympathy  and  tenderness  for  her,  poor,  un 
happy  lady.  With  one  of  her  letters  in  his  hands, 
perfumed  with  the  same  delicate  odors  which 
floated  about  the  folds  of  her  dress  and  rose  from 
the  soft  laces  on  her  bosom  and  from  the  tresses 
of  her  rich  brown  hair,  the  spell  again  was  upon 
him,  only  less  strong  than  when  in  her  presence. 
But  let  her  fail  for  one  single  day  to  write  him, 
let  her  fail  for  one  day  to  engage  him  in  an  inter 
view,  and  a  coldness  toward  her  that  was  almost 
repugnance,  took  the  place  of  sympathy. 

If  you,  cynical  man  of  the  world,  can  believe 
that  this  young  man  was  absolutely  pure  ;  if  you, 
utterly  untemptable  man  or  woman,  can  under 
stand  that  he  was  not  altogether  so  strong  as  he 
might  and  should  have  been  ;  and  if  you  will  both 
5* 


io6          The  Charm  of  a  Woman's  Eyes. 

add  to  these  facts  the  other  facts  that  he  was  young 
and  had  never  before  been  thus  beset,  you  will 
find  his  varying  states  of  mind  easy  to  understand. 
How  impregnable  a  fortress  the  very  strongest 
man's  honor  would  prove  under  so  vigorous  an 
assault  as  this  which  Mrs.  Duncan  was  making  on 
young  Phelps,  and  so  prolonged  a  siege  as  it 
proved  to  be,  is  a  debatable  question.  And  it  is 
a  question  that  will  not  be  debated  here. 

Once,  when  seated  on  the  beach  with  Mrs.  Dun 
can — not  alone — oh,  no  ;  numberless  people  flit 
ting  about,  children  romping,  carriages  passing 
with  rumbling  wheels ;  he  had  fallen  to  comparing 
her  to  his  pure,  sweet  Fay  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Dun 
can,  suddenly  speaking,  had  said,  "  What  is  it  that 
you  are  thinking  about  me  ?  "  he  had  said,  "  I  was 
thinking  how  like  you  are  to  Cleopatra,"  at  which 
she  had  seemed  as  pleased  as  if  he  had  called  her 
an  angel.  After  he  had  left  her  he  had  thought 
that  it  was  pretty  stupid  to  call  a  woman  Cleopa 
tra  ;  in  the  first  place  because  it  implies  an  Antony  ; 
and  Stuart  Phelps  laughed  outright  at  the  absurd 
ity  of  comparing  himself  to  Mark  Antony.  Next, 
it  being  generally  conceded  that  Cleopatra  was  a 
person  of  lax  morals,  could  it  be  accepted  as  a  com 
pliment  by  any  woman  to  be  likened  to  Cleopatra  ? 
and  thirdly,  was  Stuart  Phelps  quite  sure  that  Cle 
opatra  was  not  a  colored  woman  ?  He  was  certain 
he  had  seen  her  pictured  somewhere,  as  nearly 
black,  grinning  horribly  at  a  pusillanimous  Antony, 


The  Charm  of  a  Woman's  Eyes.          107 

with  a  remarkably  chalky  skin,  who  was  propped 
up  on  pillows  in  an  uncomfortable  position  at  her 
feet.  Stuart  was  almost  sure  that  Shakespeare 
spoke  of  Cleopatra  as  having  a  "  tawny  skin."  Al 
most,  but  not  quite  sure  ;  and  as  there  was  no  copy 
of  the  bard's  works  at  Long  Branch,  so  far  as  he 
knew,  he  couldn't  look  it  up,  even  if  it  mattered. 
And  it  did  not.  For  black  or  white,  vicious  or 
virtuous,  Mrs.  Duncan  had  seemed  mightily 
pleased  when  he  called  her  Cleopatra. 

If  the  poor  fellow  could  have  got  outside  of  him 
self,  and  taken  in  the  bearings  of  this  affair  from  an 
exterior  point  of  view,  how  quickly  he  would  have 
rendered  a  correct  judgment  upon  it !  He  would 
have  said — as  you  do  in  judging  him — "young  man, 
give  the  cold  shoulder  to  that  woman ;  pack  up 
your  things,  leave  Long  Branch,  get  married  to  the 
girl  to  whom  you  are  engaged,  and  live  happy 
ever  after."  But,  in  actual  practice,  to  give  the 
cold  shoulder  even  to  an  offensive  person,  is  adiffi 
cult  and  an  unpleasant  thing  to  do  ;  how  much 
more  so  to  frigidly  drop  the  acquaintance  of  a 
beautiful  person,  a  bewitching  woman,  with  violet 
eyes,  whose  life  you  have  saved,  and  who  pours 
unceasingly  into  your  flattered  ears  the  confidences 
of  her  heart,  in  a  voice  whose  mellowness  never 
was  surpassed. 

In  fine,  Stuart's  chief  form  of  consolation  for 
himself — in  those  moments  when  he  was  unsympa 
thetic,  and  consequently  self-reproachful — was  in 


io8  The  Charm  of  a  Woman  s  Eyes. 

assuring  himself  that  soon  the  imbroglio  wt'-u.d  be 
broken  up  by  his  leaving  this  watering-place  and 
going  back  to  town  ;  there  to  resume  his  old,  com 
fortable  life  of  honest  work  by  day,  honest  recrea 
tion  in  the  evening,  and  honest  church-going — 
spite  of  his  fling  at  the  occasional  substitution  of  a 
"  muff"  for  their  minister — on  Sunday. 

Meantime,  here  he  was  in  Mrs.  Duncan's  room, 
prepared  to  listen  to  her  story. 

"  So  good  of  you  to  come  !  "  she  exclaimed,  ris 
ing  to  greet  him,  and  extending  both  hands  in  the 
warmest  way.  He  sat  in  silence  upon  the  chair 
she  rolled  up  for  him,  deposited  his  hat  on  the 
table,  and  waited  for  her  to  begin  the  conversation. 

She  was  at  small  loss  to  do  that. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  three  hours  for  you," 
said  she,  placing  herself  on  a  stool  by  his  side,  and 
looking  up  into  his  eyes.  "You've  been  sitting 
there  in  that  stupid  parlor,  along  with  all  those 
people,  and  have  never  once  thought  of  me.  I 
passed  the  doors  twice ;  once  on  the  piazza,  once 
inside.  Didn't  you  see  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  dryly,  "  I  didn't  see  you." 

"Those  people  are  very  cool  to  me  lately — I 
mean  the  Underbills — do  you  know  why  ?  " 

"  No,"  more  dryly  still,  "  I  don't  know  why." 

"  Not  that  I  care,"  she  went  on.  "  I  have  passed 
through  too  many  trials  to  be  much  disturbed  by 
so  small  a  matter  as  this.  It  is  my  lot  to  be  mis 
judged,  wronged,  persecuted." 


The  Charm  of  a  Woman's  Eyes.          109 

Again  !  The  "  Here  we  are,  Mr.  Merryman" 
of  the  clown  in  the  circus,  was  not  more  inevitable 
than  Mrs.  Duncan's  cry  of  persecution. 

The  stern  cast  given  to  the  features  of  her  lis 
tener  began  as  usual  to  melt  into  sympathetic 
graciousness  under  the  tones  of  her  soft  voice. 

"  They  have  driven  me  away  from  the  table,  but 
I  care  little  for  that.  I  am  happier  in  the  seclusion 
of  my  own  room,  where  I  dine  quite  alone  and  sol 
itary.  I  suppose  you  haven't  noticed  my  absence  ; 
I  am  not  necessary  to  your  happiness.  But  it  was 
not  pleasant  for  me  to  sit  at  the  table  with  the 
Underhills,  since  they  have  taken  it  into  their 
heads  to  be  cool.  I  think — to  tell  the  truth — that 
Fay  is  jealous  of  me." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  I  assure  you,"  Stuart 
said,  stiffly.  Yet  the  idea  of  one  beautiful  woman 
being  jealous  of  another  beautiful  woman,  and  the 
jealousy  of  both  beautiful  women  being  caused  by 
himself,  was  a  thing  that  might  have  flattered  a 
vainer  man  than  Stuart  Phelps. 

"You  must  have  dinner  with  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Duncan,  as  Marcia  opened  the  door  and  a  colored 
man  in  a  spotless  white  jacket  and  apron,  bearing 
a  huge  tray  laden  a  half  a  foot  high  with  rich  food 
of  every  description,  entered  the  room. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  quickly,  rising  to  his  feet  and 
taking  up  his  hat. 

"Yes,  but  you  must,"  she  insisted,  loosening 
his  ringers  and  placing  his  hat  on  the  head  of  a 


I IO          The  Charm  of  a  Woman's  Eyes. 

small  marble  Cupid  which  stood  on  the  mantlepiece ; 
her  own  property  this,  for  the  custom  of  decorating 
rooms  with  statuary  is  honored  in  the  breach  at 
Long  Branch  hotels.  "  I  ordered  dinner  for  you 
also,  when  I  saw  you  were  so  late  in  coming." 

She  had  ordered  champagne  also  ;  the  best 
brand  in  the  house  ;  and  a  bumper  of  it  after  the 
heavy  mock-turtle  soup  was  very  grateful  to  the 
palate  of  Mr.  Stuart  Phelps.  He  had  not  touched 
a  drop  of  wine  of  any  sort,  oh,  he  could  scarcely 
remember  when  !  Both  his  father  and  Mr.  Under- 
hill  were  strict  "  temperance  men;  "  in  fact,  both 
families  looked  upon  spirituous  liquors  as  the 
abomination  of  abominations  ;  and  partly  to  please 
them,  but  principally  because  he  could  get  on  per 
fectly  well  without  it — in  fact,  seldom  thought  of 
it — Stuart  never  took  wine  except  when  it  was 
placed  before  him  and  urged  upon  him. 

It  was  placed  before  him,  and  urged  upon  him 
now. 

"  Capital  wine  !  "  said  he,  as  he  held  his  bub 
bling  glass  up  against  the  gas-light ;  for  they  had 
sat  so  long,  first  over  the  dinner  proper,  then  over 
wine  and  nuts,  that  the  twilight  had  come,  arid 
Marcia  (who  came  and  went  continually  from  an 
inner  bedroom)  had  drawn  the  blinds  and  lit  the 
gas. 

"When  we  have  finished  this  bottle" — their 
second  bottle  of  champagne,  "  I  want  you  to  taste 
some  sherry  I've  got,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan.  "  Some 


The  Charm  of  a  Woman  s  Eyes.          1 1 1 

of  my  own,  something  such  as  no  hotel  like  this 
ever  furnished.  I  was  ordered  to  take  a  table- 
spoonful  of  sherry  three  times  a  day  to  give  me  an 
appetite,  and  a  friend  of  mine  who  is  an  importer 
of  wines  procured  this  for  me.  It  is  beautiful  to 
look  at !  Just  like  liquid  gold." 

Stuart  was  in  a  far  more  humorous  mood  than 
when  he  came  in. 

"  Gold  is  always  a  chimera,"  he  attempted  to 
sing,  and  broke  down  at  it.  "That's  what  the 
fellow  in  the  opera  sings,  don't  you  remember  ? 
What  is  that  opera  ?  Oh  yes,  Robert  the  Devil. 
If  I  could  sing  as  well  as  our  friend,  the  German 
swine-slaughterer  from  Chicago,  I'd  give  you  that  in 
fine  style.  By  Jove,  doesn't  he  play  and  sing 
well  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  his  singing,  nor  his  playing. 
I'd  rather  hear  you  talk  for  five  minutes  than  hear 
him  play  the  finest  things  he  knows  for  an  hour." 

"  Oh,  you  " — Cleopatra  !  he  was  actually  going 
to  say  again.  But  he  stopped,  finished  his  glass, 
and  added,  "flatterer  !" 

"  It  isn't  flattery,  it's  truth.  When  I  want  to 
hear  music,  I  buy  a  ticket  for  concert  or  opera, 
and  go  deliberately  and  hear  the  best  that's  to  be 
heard.  I  don't  encourage  these  amateur  people. 
They  sit  down  at  the  piano  and  make  themselves 
the  centre  of  interest,  and  all  conversation  has  got 
to  stop  while  they  are  showing  themselves  off." 

The  matter  being  put  in  this  light,  Stuart  began 


1 1 2          The  Charm  of  a  Woman's  Eyes. 

to  feel  quite  indignant  at  the  German  for 
on  that  very  day — made  himself  the  centre  of  in 
terest,  stopped  the  conversation,  and  showed  him 
self  off. 

"  I  think  you're  right,"  said  he,  leaving  the  ta 
ble  and  making  himself  comfortable  on  the  deeply 
cushioned  sofa,  "  quite  right  !  " 

"  Marcia,"  called  Mrs.  Duncan,  and  the  specta 
cled  woman,  with  a  stocking  which  she  had  evi 
dently  been  engaged  in  darning  stretched  on  her 
hand,  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  inner  room. 

"Put  the  remains  of  this  dessert  outside  the 
door,"  and  as  her  servant  obeyed  her,  she  added, 
"  and  get  out  a  bottle  of  my  sherry  ;  you  know 
where  it  is." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  woman,  without  looking 
cither  at  her  or  her  guest. 

When  Stuart's  glass  was  filled,  and  Marcia  had 
retired,  and  Mrs.  Duncan  had  sat  for  some  minutes 
by  his  side  on  the  sofa,  in  what  Stuart  felt  to  be 
very  suggestive  silence,  the  lady  started  off  on  her 
long-promised  story  by  saying  : 

"  Stuart  Phelps,  if  I  had  met  you  when  I  was 
sixteen  I  should  never  have  married  the  man  I  did, 
and  my  life  would  not  have  been  covered  with 
gloom." 

If  one  of  the  champagne  bottles  which  Stuart 
had  lately  been  engaged  in  emptying  had  begun 
of  its  own  free  will  and  accord  to  dance  a  hornpipe 
on  the  table,  the  young  gentleman  would  have 


The  Charm  of  a  Woman's  Eyes.          113 

gazed  upon  it  with  the  same  spirit  of  non-interfer 
ence  with  which  he  now  gazed  upon  Mrs.  Duncan 
for  the  first  time  plainly  avowing  her  love  for  him. 

"  Sixteen  ?  "  he  said.  "  Where  was  I  when  you 
were  sixteen  ?  " 

If  all  things  were  known — as  they  never  are, 
either  in  romance  or  reality — it  would  have  been 
seen  that  when  Mrs.  Duncan  was  sixteen,  Stuart 
was  eleven  ;  and  as  he  was  a  very  immature  boy  at 
that  age  who  got  "  kept  in  "  at  school  almost  every 
day  for  playing  marbles  in  the  street  and  being  late, 
and  in  the  very  hour  during  which  Mrs.  Duncan 
was  going  through  the  marriage  ceremony  was 
actually  standing  with  a  fool's  cap  on  his  head  for 
not  knowing  his  grammar  lesson,  his  desirability  for 
the  position  of  husband  to  anybody  might  well — if, 
as  I  said,  all  things  had  been  known — have  been 
doubted. 

Mrs.  Duncan  made  no  answer  to  his  question. 
How  should  she  know  where  he  was  ? 

"And  who  was  he? — your  husband?"  asked 
Stuart,  sipping  the  sherry. 

"He  was  a  lawyer;  Richard  Duncan  of  San 
Francisco.  I  suppose  you  never  heard  of  him. 
He  was  a  splendid  lawyer,  and  a  very  rich  man. 
I  was  only  a  child  when  I  married  him — sixteen,  as 
I  said.  He  was  forty-five.  I  was  driven  into  the 
match  by  a  cruel  step-mother.  Ah  me  !  "  she  con 
tinued,  "  I  have  had  a  hard  life.  I  may  truly  say 
I  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  moment's  hap- 


1 14          The  Charm  of  a  Woman's  Eyes. 

piness  until  I  met  you."  She  extended  her  hand 
towards  him — pretty  hand,  with  a  number  of  spark 
ling  rings  on  it — and  placed  it  quietly  in  his  own. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  in  which  Stuart's 
mind  went  off  in  a  dreamy  manner  to  Fay,  won 
dering  where  she  was,  whether  she  were  thinking 
of  him,  what  she  would  think  of  him  now,  if  she 
could  see  him.  But,  bah  !  it  would  soon  be  over, 
and  then  good-by  to  this.  And  when  these  reflec 
tions  came  to  an  end,  the  glass  of  sherry  did  like 
wise,  and  Mrs.  Duncan  filled  it  anew,  with  a  be 
witching  smile. 

"Is  it  possible  he  didn't  love  you,  didn't  treat 
you  well  ?  "  asked  Stuart,  after  she  had  re-seated 
herself  by  his  side. 

"  Oh,  he  was  a  brute  to  me  !  "  she  cried,  clasp 
ing  her  hands  together,  and  raising  her  lovely  violet 
eyes  towards  the  ceiling,  looking  so  beautiful,  and 
so  unhappy,  that  a  mad  thought  flashed  through 
the  young  man's  brain  :  what  if  he  should — kiss 
her  !  Would  she  scream  ?  He  felt  quite  sure  she 
wouldn't.  Meantime  he  kissed  the  rim  of  his  wine 
glass  instead.  It  was  very  nice  sherry. 

"  He  nearly  drove  me  wild,"  Mrs.  Duncan  went 
on.  "  Tortured  me  with  jealousy,  abused  me  when 
he  was  drunk,  did  everything  to  make  life  a  torture, 
a  burden,  instead  of  what  it  should  be,  a  blessing, 
a  joy.  I  endured  this  fearful  agony  for  eight 
years." 

"  What  happened  then  ?  "  asked  Stuart. 


The  Charm  of  a  Woman's  Eyes.          115 

"Oh,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  stumbling 
strangely  over  so  simple  a  statement,  "he — he — 
died." 

"  Oh,  he  died,"  repeated  Stuart. 

There  was  again  a  pause,  and  when  Mrs.  Dun 
can  raised  her  eyes  she  found  those  of  Marcia, 
gleaming  horribly  through  her  spectacles — or  so  it 
seemed  to  the  widow — and  fixed  on  her  glassily 
through  the  half-open  door  of  the  inner  room. 

"Want  some  more  wine?"  the  grim  woman 
asked  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

"  No.  Shut  the  door.  I'll  call  you  when  I  want 
you,"  said  the  widow  tartly. 

When  she  had  disappeared,  Stuart  said, 

"  Who  is  that  woman  ?  " 

"  Only  my  servant,  as  I  have  told  you.  But  she 
is  such  an  eccentric  creature  that  she  frightens  me 
half  to  death  sometimes.  I  often  feel  like  discharg 
ing  her,  she  is  so  odd.  Still,  she  is  very  efficient ; 
and  sometimes  I  think  she  is  attached  to  me." 

"  Who  would  not  be?"  he  said,  as  much  to  his 
own  astonishment  as  hers. 

"Oh,  Stuart!" 

Kissed  she  was,  whether  by  the  sherry  bottle 
or  Stuart  Phelps  is  not  of  much  consequence — one 
had  about  as  much  sense  as  the  other. 

And  so  the  half  hours  flew.  When  Stuart  was 
taking  his  leave,  which  he  did  standing  unsteadily 
for  another  half  hour  by  the  door,  a  renewal  of 
the  sherry  kisses  burst  forth  at  each  new  promise ; 


n6  The  Lesson  of  a  Night, 

and  his  promises  were  plentiful  as  lilacs  in  May — 
promises  to  love  her,  promises  to  give  up  Fay 
Underhill  forever,  promises  to  go  with  her  to 
Europe,  with  her,  Diana,  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment ;  promises — well,  enough  of  this.  When 
he  left  her,  he  stood  committed  to  perform  untold 
follies  ;  and  happy  in  her  triumph  over  him,  Mrs. 
Duncan  let  him  go  from  her  that  night  to  stumble 
in  his  debased,  befogged  condition  into  more  follies 
and  further  degradation. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   LESSON   OF  A   NIGHT. 

IN  the  nearly  deserted  billiard  room  a  game  was 
progressing ;  and  yet  a  game  it  could  scarcely  be 
called.  Mr.  Randolph  Cabell  was  playing  with 
the  marker. 

If  Stuart  Phelps  had  heard,  or  had  had  sense 
enough  to  comprehend  what  he  heard,  he  would 
have  comprehended  and  heard  the  Southerner  say 
ing  again  and  again  that  he  had  not  touched  a  bil 
liard  cue  for  years,  and  that  never  in  his  life  had  he 
been  able — nor  did  he  ever  expect  to  be  able — to 
master  this  scientific  pastime.  So  frank  a  dis 
claimer  of  proficiency  as  this  was  enough  to  excuse 


The  Lesson  of  a  Night.  1 1 7 

all  blunders  in  the  eyes  of  the  one  or  two  men  who 
sat  in  high  chairs  leisurely  observing,  now  the  awk 
ward  misses  of  the  handsome  novice,  now  the  skill 
ful  shots — little  short  of  marvelous — of  the  profes 
sional  player.  Knowing  well,  of  course,  that 
the  use  of  the  tables  would  be  paid  for,  the  marker 
on  several  occasions  made  the  gentleman  who  was 
for  the  nonce  his  pupil  take  his  shots  over  and  over 
till  he  succeeded  in  caroming  ;  or  indicated  with 
pointed  cue  the  direction  in  which  it  was  necessary 
to  send  his  ball  in  order  to  make  a  telling  shot.  So 
plainly  was  all  this  instruction,  that  scoring  the 
points  was  not  thought  of  on  either  side,  except 
that  when  Mr.  Cabell  chanced  to  make  a  successful 
shot  he  would  frolicsomely  credit  himself  with  forty 
or  fifty  points  at  a  time.  Any  child  might  have 
understood  how  matters  were ;  yet  I  trust  you  will 
not-  insult  the  mental  capabilities  of  any  child  by 
comparing  them  to  those  of  the  be-sherried  Stuart 
Phelps. 

As  soon  as  he  entered  the  room  this  fine  young 
gentleman  cramped  himself  up  in  one  of  the  high 
chairs  against  the  wall  in  a  distorted  and  absurd 
posture,  and  at  the  very  first  blunder  of  the  young 
Southerner  he  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

Cabell  turned  his  head,  and  seeing  that  it  was  a 
new-comer,  and  moreover  a  gentleman  whom  he 
had  seen  sitting  that  very  day  with  a  party  of  ladies 
among  whom  was  his  wife's  friend,  Cornelia  Corn- 
wallis,  he  smiled  also. 


I  T  8  The  Lesson  of  a  Night. 

"  I'm  learning,"  he  said.  "  Apt  pupil,  am  I 
not  ?  "  and  as  he  said  this  he  missed  another  shot 
and  sent  his  own  ball  off  the  table. 

"Yes,  I  should  think  so,"  said  Stuart,  giggling 
idiotically. 

Cabell  continued  to  take  his  mirth  very  good- 
naturedly  for  some  time.  But  as  at  every  blunder 
he  made  Stuart's  laugh  grew  louder  and  more  in 
sulting,  Cabell's  brow  contracted,  and  his  dark  eye 
flashed. 

"To  make  that  carom,  sir,"  said  the  marker, 
"  you  just  strike  your  ball  here,  and  that  sends  it — 
ah  no  !  try  that  again."  As  he  replaced  the  balls 
in  the  position  they  before  stood  Stuart's  laugh 
rang  out  again,  full  of  drunken  derision.  Cabell 
glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  him,  his  lips  curled  with 
contempt;  and  Stuart,  about  to  laugh  again,  was 
stopped  by  feeling  a  powerful  grip  on  his  knee. 
Sherry  is  a  confusing  beverage  ;  and  Stuart,  who 
had  heard  the  girls  shriek  in  the  water,  and  cry 
that  crabs  were  biting  their  toes,  clasped  the  bony 
fingers  which  caused  him  pain  in  the  vicinity  of  his 
knee-cap,  and  said  with  a  hiccup  and  a  laugh, 
"  How  are  you,  crab  ?  " 

"  If  I  wuz  you,"  and  it  was  the  voice  of  Take 
Notice  Wiggins  which  whispered  loudly  in  his  ear, 
and  it  was  to  N.  B.  Wiggins  the  bony  fingers  be 
longed,  "  if  I  wuz  you  I'd  stop  making  an  ass  of 
myself,  if  I  could.  There  ain't  no  occasion.  He's 
all  right.  He  ain't  no  player  and  he  says  so.  And 


The  Lesson  of  a  Night.  119 

it's  nobody's  business  whether  he  is  or  not.  You 
hain't  no  call  to  laugh  at  him  any  way,  and  I  guess 
if  you  know  when  you're  well  off  you'll  keep  your 
head  shut." 

To  a  series  of  brilliant  shots  by  the  marker  the 
few  on-lookers,  including  Cabell,  gave  applause ; 
and  Stuart  clapped  his  hands  as  idiotically  as  he 
had  laughed. 

Then  Cabell  played  again  ;  and  this  time  caromed 
nicely. 

"That  was  a  scratch,  a  scratch,"  stuttered 
Phelps,  in  a  loud  voice;  "it  don't  count,  I  say! 
It  was  a  scratch  !  "  and  he  rose  totteringly  on  the 
chair-round,  and  struck  at  the  table  with  a  cue  he 
had  taken  from  the  rack  at  his  side,  but  missing 
his  aim  hit  Cabell  on  the  knuckles  of  his  left  hand 
instead. 

Before  he  knew  why,  Stuart  was  sprawling  on 
the  floor,  where  Randolph  Cabell  had  indignantly 
flung  him ;  then  coolly  paying  the  marker,  the 
Southerner  tossed  a  visiting  card  at  N.  B.  Wiggins, 
whom  he  supposed  to  be  Stuart's  friend,  and  after 
lighting  his  cigar  and  assuring  himself  by  a  puff  or 
two  that  it  was  well  ablaze,  he  turned  on  his  heel 
and  sauntered  out. 

Wiggins  picked  up  the  card  and  twisted  it  in  his 
ringers.  "  What  did  he  leave  his  visiting  card  on 
me  for?  I  never  called  on  him!  'Randolph 
Cabell,  Sunset-on-the-coast,  Georgia,' "  he  read, 
and  then  gave  a  low  whistle.  "  Say,"  he  cried, 


I2O  A  Model  Manager. 

dragging  Stuart  to  his  feet.     "You're  in  a  pretty 
mess  now.     You're  in  for  a  duel,  you  are  !  " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A    MODEL    MANAGER. 

MR.  N.  B.  WIGGINS  had  enough  to  do,  in  suc 
cessfully  engineering  his  own  affairs,  without  tak 
ing  charge  of  other  people's  visiting  cards  for  them. 
In  fact,  these  same  little  bits  of  pasteboard  had  al 
ready  caused  him  considerable  annoyance  of  late. 
If  there  was  one  thing  more  than  all  others  insuffer 
able  to  Mr.  Wiggins,  it  was  to  be  outdone  in  any 
thing  he  had  undertaken.  At  Oshkosh  he  was 
known  as  one  of  the  most  energetic,  most  tireless, 
wideawake,  public-spirited  men  in  the  place. 

The  thing  in  which  Mr.  Wiggins  was  now  man 
ifestly  being  outdone  was  in  the  matter  of  his  polite 
attentions  to  Madame  Pittaluga.  Finding  that  it 
was  "  the  cheese,"  as  he  expressed  it,  to  send 
flowers  to  ladies  at  the  Branch,  that  they  might 
parade  them  as  trophies  on  the  dining  tables  at 
which  they  sat,  N.  B.  betook  himself  to  all  the 
florists  in  the  place,  and  ordered  first  from  one  and 
then  from  another,  his  choicest  cullings.  Paying 
roundly  in  greenbacks  for  this  bit  of  gallantry,  it 


A  Model  Manager.  121 

was  annoying  to  see  himself  daily  outstripped  by 
the  appearance  on  Madame  Pittaluga's  table  of  some 
floral  structure  which  for  size  and  beauty  threw  his 
own  offering  completely  in  the  shade.  The  air 
was  heavy  with  the  fragrance  of  flowers  about  her 
table — their  gracious  forms  fashioned  every  day  in 
some  new  and  quaint  device ;  now  a  plain  bed  of 
roses  in  which  Madame's  monogram  was  traced  in 
fragrant  white  flowers  ;  now  a  ship,  freighted  with 
camelias,  tuberoses,  fuchsias,  and  who  knows  what 
besides  ? — now  a  beflowered  parasol ;  now  a  harp  ; 
now  a  crown  ;  the  devices  were  endless  ;  and  upon 
each  and  every  one  was  hung  a  visiting  card,  on 
which  was  inscribed  with  what  Mr.  Wiggins  felt  to 
be  a  truly  nauseating  sameness — "  With  the  com 
pliments  of  yours  truly,  Tony  McDougall." 

He  had  frequently  asked  Madame  Pittalugawho 
this  Tony  McDougall  was  ;  and  every  time  he  did 
so  she  laconically  replied,  "  He  is  a  gentleman." 

At  Long  Branch  this  naturally  confined  guessing 
to  a  narrow  circle ;  and  when  Take  Notice  won 
dered  whether  it  might  be  Stuart  Phelps,  or  the 
Southerner,  or  the  German,  or  old  Mr.  Underbill, 
or  some  one  of  a  few  others,  the  names  of  none  of 
whom  he  knew,  he  was  astonished,  on  drawing  a 
chair  up  to  that  of  Madame  Pittalugaone  morning, 
on  the  piazza,  to  find  her  talking  to  a  good-looking 
enough  man,  costumed  in  the  style  generally 
known  as  "  flashy" — a  velvet  coat,  a  scarlet  neck 
tie,  an  embroidered  shirt,  and  a  tall  white  hat  with 
6 


122  A  Model  Manager.    • 

a  bit  of  crape  about  it — whom  she  presented  to  the 
astonished  and  disgusted  Westerner  as  "  Monsieur 
Tony  McDougall." 

"  How's  your  nibbs  ?  "  said  Mr.  McDougall, 
holding  out  his  hand,  upon  which,  with  so  much 
other  disdain  of  expenditure,  one  would  have  ex 
pected  to  see  gloves  ;  there  was  a  diamond  cluster 
ring  instead. 

A  jelly-fish  at  its  jelliest  would  have  rendered  as 
cordial  a  response  to  a  grip  as  did  Mr.  Wiggins's 
hand  to  that  of  Tony  McDougall.  It  has  not  been 
claimed  for  N.  B.  Wiggins,  Esq.,  of  Oshkosh, 
Wisconsin,  that  he  was  an  Adonis,  a  Chesterfield, 
or  a  Beau  Brummell ;  but  he  was  a  shrewd,  honest 
man,  who  hated  sham  and  had  a  sharply-defined 
idea  of  what  constituted  manliness,  which  was  out 
raged  in  its  plainest  externals  by  the  exaggerated 
style  of  costume  affected  by  his  new  acquaintance. 
Indeed,  Take  Notice  belonged  to  that  large  class 
of  American  men  who  hold  the  mistaken  opinion 
that  the  slightest  attention  (beyond  what  is  strictly 
necessary)  to  the  subject  of  the  toilet,  is  a  thing 
too  trivial  and  absurd  for  a  thoughtful  man.  The 
consequence  was  that  he  clung,  like  most  Western 
men  of  this  way  of  thinking,  to  the  ugly  and  ill-fit 
ting  suit  of  black  broadcloth,  worn  on  all  occasions, 
and  a  soft  black  "  slouch  "  hat,  worn  on  nearly  all 
occasions.  This  apparel  was  formerly  another  of 
the  national  characteristics.  Now  it  has  become 
more  generally  the  badge  of  the  Western  man. 


A  Model  Manager.  123 

The  sole  concession  to  the  prejudices  of  fashion 
which  our  friend  made  at  the  East  was  to  wear  a 
necktie — a  superfluity  of  costume  which  it  was  his 
consistent  custom  to  dispense  with  entirely,  at 
home  in  Oshkosh. 

It  was  strange  that  this  practical,  common-sensi- 
cal  man — angular  in  mind  as  well  as  in  body,  utili 
tarian  in  the  greatest  degree,  knowing  nothing  of 
art,  and  much  of  lumber,  considering  the  question 
of  whether  Oshkosh  could  get  rolling  stock  on  the 
railway  when  she  wanted  it  as  of  far  greater  im 
portance  to  the  world  at  large  than  that  Gounod 
had  composed  a  new  opera,  or  that  Rossini  was 
dead,  should  have  taken  so  great  a  liking  to  the 
stout  Italian  woman,  to  whom  art  was  not  only  a 
goddess  whom  her  soul  worshipped,  but  a  good 
mother  by  whom  her  body  was  fed.  But  the 
great  system  of  love  going  by  contraries  explained 
this,  perhaps.  Madame  Pittaluga  was  suave, 
smooth,  stout,  well  satisfied  with  herself  and  every 
body  else.  Wiggins  was  sharp,  all  edges,  thin, 
bony,  restless,  never  satisfied  with  what  he  nor 
anybody  else  had  done  ;  feeling  the  very  seventh 
day  of  rest  irksome,  because  it  interfered  with  his 
driving  go-aheadativeness  ;  the  sort  of  man  who 
built  up  this  country,  leveled  the  forest,  drained 
ditches,  fought  Indians — an  entirely  new  order  of 
man  from  that  which  ever  before  existed  ;  a  man 
seen  in  abundance  in  no  other  country  but  this, 
and  a  man  raised  up  by  God  to  make  this  recent 


124  A  Model  Manager. 

wilderness  a  habitable  home  for  his  kind.  He  was 
unmarried  yet,  never  having  had  any  time,  he  said, 
to  go  courting.  In  fact,  his  presence  here  at  Long 
Branch  could  be  traced  directly  to  duties  connect 
ed  with  business.  He  had  been  in  New  York, 
rushing  about  in  the  hot,  crowded  streets,  some 
times  with  his  coat  off,  but  always  vestless  ;  and 
one  day,  panting  with  heat,  he  had  jumped  upon  a 
Long  Branch  boat  just  as  she  was  leaving  the 
dock,  intending  to  pass  twenty-four  hours  by  the 
seashore.  He  had  met  Madame  Pittaluga  ;  and 
par  consequent ',  here  he  was  still. 

However,  it  was  not  the  fact  that  he  was  here 
which  now  annoyed  Mr.  Wiggins  ;  it  was  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Tony  McDougall  was  here — the  man  of 
the  flowers  and  the  visiting  cards,  with  their  for 
mula  exposing  as  much  poverty  of  imagination  as 
the  daily  offering  seemed  to  show  the  reverse  of 
poverty  in  his  purse ;  a  man  clad  in  colors  and 
forms  offensive  to  the  eye  of  the  Oshkosh  lumber 
merchant ;  a  man  evidently  viewed  with  favor  by 
the  prima  donna ;  a  man  who — yes,  positively  ! — was 
chewing  tobacco,  while  she  complacently  smiled, 
as  if  such  a  thing  as  objecting  to  the  weed  in  its 
cud  form  had  never  entered  her  well-dressed  head. 

Finding  that  Mr.  Wiggins  was  reticent  in  regard 
to  the  welfare  of  "  his  nibbs  " — and  it  is  just  pos 
sible  was  not  in  possession  of  accurate  information 
as  to  the  nature  of  the  same — Mr.  Tony  McDou 
gall,  feeling  that  the  formality  of  introduction  had 


A  Model  Manager.  12.5 

consumed  quite  enough  valuable  time,  resumed  his 
interrupted  conversation  with  the  prima  donna. 

"  So  you  think  you  can  go  traveling  with  me  ? 
he  asked  of  Pittaluga  ;  and  greatly  to  Wiggins's 
surprise,  she  answered, 

"Yas,  I  tinkso." 

"  I'll  run  you  round  the  country  fast,"  said  Mr. 
McDougall  ;  "  and  I  think  we'll  both  do  big.  I 
had  Ole  Rossa,  the  great  violinist,  last  winter,  and  I 
showed  him  in  sixty-two  towns  on  consecutive 
nights,  and  we  both  made  a  pile.  Had  quizby 
biz  in  some  towns,  of  course,  but  the  season  aver 
aged  well.  You  see,  when  I  get  on  the  road  I 
ain't  none  of  your  kid-glove  and  gold-cane  show 
men.  I  pitch  in  then.  Then's  working-time,  then 
is  ;  when  I  come  back  to  Ne'  York  then  I  feel  like 
fixing  up  gay  and  doing  considerable  heavy  loafing 
around.  Not  but  what  I  haven't  always  got  my 
eye  open  for  attractive  novelties.  That's  what 
made  me  try  if  I  couldn't  fix  with  you,"  and  he 
gave  the  lady  a  seductive  smile,  to  which  she 
bobbed  her  head,  by  way  of  acknowledgment  of 
his  appreciation  of  her  talents. 

"  So  you're  a  theatrical  performer,  are  you  ?  " 
asked  Wiggins,  eyeing  the  specimen  from  head  to 
foot. 

"  Well,  no,  cully,  not  a  performer  myself.  I'm 
not  that  kind  of  a  faker,  though  I  can  do  most 
anything  connected  with  the  biz  except  face  the 
footlights — that  beats  me.  I  tried  it  once — went 


126  A  Model  Manager. 

on  as  a  supe  in  one  of  Ned  Forrest's  pieces  ;  that 
is,  I  did  that  fellow  in  Richard  III.  who  has  one 
line  to  speak,  '  Stand  back,  my  lord,  and  let  the 
coffin  pass  !  '  Of  course  in  the  wings  and  green 
room  they  rigged  me  about  the  old  slip  before  I 
went  on.  Well,  you  may  send  me  South  as  a 
carpet-bagger  if  I  didn't  go  right  on  and  say  it." 

"  Say  what  ?  "  asked  Wiggins. 

"  Why,  I  ups  with  my  tin  spear,  and  aims  it  at 
Forrest's  left  shoulder  and  roars  out  at  the  top  of 
my  voice  :  '  Stand  back,  my  lord,  and  let  the  par 
son  cough  !  '  When  they  had  done  laughing,  he 
added,  "  Forrest  was  so  mad  he  grabbed  me  by 
the  nape  of  the  neck,  jabbed  the  spear  into  my 
back,  kicked  me  all  around  the  stage  twice,  threw 
me  over  into  the  orchestra,  the  leader  pitched  me 
back  again,  and  Forrest  finished  the  scene  by 
jumping  on  me.  It  was  rough,  I  tell  you.  After 
that,  I  quit  the  profesh." 

"  I  suppose  you  make  a  good  deal  of  money  in 
your  business,"  said  Wiggins,  who  hadn't  laughed 
so  heartily  for  years. 

"  Make  one  season,  get  my  duds  stopped  for 
debt  the  next,"  he  answered,  frankly.  "  Of  course 
the  great  thing  is  to  have  a  big  attraction.  Then 
you  lay  out  your  route,  engage  your  halls  two  or 
three  months  ahead,  avoiding  big  jumps,  and  try 
ing  to  make  your  railroad  connections  so  that  you 
don't  have  no  long  stops  in  a  town,  but  can  just 
do  it  quick;  bill  'em,  hog  'em,  and  go." 


A  Model  Manager.  127 

"  Bill  'em,  hog  'em  ?  "  interrogated  Wiggins. 

"  Yes  ;  that  is,  your  advance  agent  arrives  before 
you  and  sets  the  paste  brigade  to  billing  the  town  ; 
then  you  arrive  with  your  attraction,  give  your 
show,  hog  the  receipts  and  go." 

"  Oh,  I  see  !  I  should  think  it  ought  to  pay  you 
well." 

"  Well  it  would,  if  there  wasn't  so  many  dead 
beats  in  the  provincial  towns." 

"  Dead  beats  in  the  towns!  Well  now,  cur'- 
ously  enough,  that's  a  word  I  never  heard  used 
afore,  'cept  to  apply  it  to  the  showmen — not  to  the 
stay-to-home  citizens  of  a  town."  Mr.  Wiggins 
felt  he  was  a  little  severe  in  saying  this,  but  he 
spoke  as  one  who  defends  the  honor  of  Oshkosh, 
inferentially  attacked  by  this  charge  of  provincial 
dead-beatism. 

"  Well,  it's  about  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen 
of  t'other,"  replied  Mr.  McDougall,  with  perfect 
good-nature.  "  Now,  this  is  just  the  way  the  old 
thing  works.  I  go  into  a  town  with  my  show.  I 
pay  the  highest  price  for  everything ;  printing, 
advertising,  hauling  trunks — in  fact,  every  rascal 
in  the  town  pounces  down  upon  me  as  if  he  never 
saw  a  dollar  before,  and  never  expected  to  again. 
I  order  my  ad.  at  big  rates  into  the  local  news 
paper  ;  perhaps  there  ain't  another  live  ad.  in  it ; 
I  treat  the  editor  with  as  much  respect  as  if  he  was 
Horace  Greeley,  James  Gordon  Bennett,  and 
Henry  J.  Raymond  rolled  into  one,  and  as  if  his 


128  A  Model  Manager. 

rag  controlled  the  opinions  of  the  world.  I 
politely  intimate  that  I  would  be  obliged  for  a  pre 
liminary  notice  of  the  coming  attraction  ;  show 
him  clippings  from  the  New  York  press  in  which 
the  parties  are  spoken  of  as  first-class  ;  he  looks 
the  notices  over,  contemptuously  sticking  up  his 
nose  as  if  he  smelt  his  own  devil,  and  half  insinu 
ating  that  a  thing  that  the  New  York  Tribune 
might  be  pleased  with  was  in  no  way  sure  of  meet 
ing  the  approbation  of  the  Bucktown  Blower. 
Then  he  asks  me  if  I  don't  want  any  printing 
done  at  his  job  office.  Though  I  most  always 
carry  a  quantity  of  pictorial  printing  with  me, 
woodcuts,  etc.,  besides  such  stuff  as  lithographs, 
window-cards,  and  photographs,  I  feel  obliged  to 
order  several  thousand  small  bills  of  him,  which  he 
charges  three  times  New  York  prices  for.  Then 
he  says  I  can  leave  him  some  tickets  if  I  choose, 
his  folks  like  to  go  to  a  show  when  it's  good  for 
anything.  I  ask  him  how  many,  and  he  counts 
up  on  his  fingers — there's  himself  and  his  wife,  and 
his  four  children,  and  his  mother-in-law,  and  her 
second  husband  and,  oh  yes  !  there's  a  young  lady 
from  the  country  stopping  with  them — that  makes, 
let's  see — nine.  I  lay  down  nine  tickets  on 
his  desk,  and  as  I  am  going  out  he  says  perhaps 
I  had  better  leave  a  couple  more  in  case  he  might 
want  to  use  them.  In  the  street  I  meet  my  agent : 
'  Big  license  to  pay  here,'  he  says.  '  Is  that  so  ? 
How  much?  '  'Twenty  dollars.'  I  go  and  sec  if 


A  Model  Manager.  129 

I  can't  beg  out  of  it.  No  go.  As  I  am  leaving 
they  call  out  to  me  and  say  :  '  You  can  leave 
tickets  for  the  Common  Council  here.'  At  the 
hotel  the  landlord  says  he'd  like  a  pass  for  himself 
and  wife,  if  I'd  just  as  lief.  The  bell-boys  and 
the  chambermaids  beg  for  them  too,  and  when  I 
refuse  they're  mad  and  call  me  mean  ;  say  Nillson 
gave  four-dollar-a-head  tickets  to  everybody  in 
the  hotel  from  the  landlord  down  to  the  porter, 
and  then  sent  for  the  colored  barber,  shook  hands 
with  him,  and  asked  him  if  he  didn't  want  seats 
in  the  front  row  for  himself  and  family.  At  night 
I  get  my  doors  open  and  wait  for  the  crowd  to 
arrive  that  is  to  cover  the  expenses  I've  been  at, 
and  leave  me  a  surplus.  The  first  man  to  arrive 
is  the  editor  ;  he's  used  all  the  tickets  and  brought 
three  more  people  whom  he  taps  on  the  shoulder, 
nods  confidently  at  me,  shows  them  into  the  best 
seats,  pushing  the  usher  away,  saying  impatiently, 
'  It's  all  right ! '  Then  the  janitor  comes  and  seats 
his  wife.  Then  perhaps  a  paying  party  arrive — a 
man  and  a  woman — and  want  to  pass  in  a  boy  of 
fourteen  with  brass  toes  on  his  shoes  free  of 
charge,  because  they  say  he  is  only  a  child.  Then 
another  couple  with  a  baby  in  arms  ;  of  course 
the  baby  don't  pay  anything,  but  it  squalls  through 
the  whole  performance.  Then  come  the  Common 
Council,  each  man  with  his  wife.  When  I  tell 
them  their  tickets  were  only  to  admit  one,  they 
get  mad,  make  a  noise,  and  say  they'll  see  if  they 
6* 


130  A  Model  Manager. 

can't  take  their  wives  in  on  those  tickets.  Then 
come  all  the  scalawags  in  town,  who  swear  they're 
printers,  or  they've  run  an  errand  for  me  or  some 
thing.  Then  the  sheriff  and  four  policemen 
come ;  want  to  see  if  there's  a  bad  character 
there  ;  I  say  under  my  breath — '  there  is — a  lot 
of  them  ;  '  they  say  all  right,  then  they'll  make  an 
arrest.  They  go  in  and  sit  down.  At  last  the 
show's  over,  and  I  count  up  and  find — well,  look 
there,"  said  Mr.  McDougall,  opening  a  note-book 
and  pointing  to  some  figures  ;  "  there's  the  record 
of  one  of  the  Ole  Rossa  nights.  See  if  you  can 
make  it  out." 

"Expenses  one  hundred  and  ten  dollars,"  read 
Wiggins. 

"That's  just  local  expenses — hall-rent,  license, 
printing,  advertising,  bill-poster,  hotel-bill,  etc. 
It  don't  include  what  I  guaranteed  Mr.  Rossa, 
which  was  a  large  weekly  certainty  and  a  share  of 
the  profits  besides." 

"  Receipts  ninety  dollars,  seventy-five  cents." 

"  Including  three  counterfeit  bills,"  added  Mr. 
McDougall,  lugubriously. 

"  Loss  twenty,  seventy-five,"  said  Wiggins  in  a 
tone  of  some  compassion  ;  for  such  results  were 
not  altogether  unknown  even  in  so  respectable  a 
business  as  the  lumber  trade. 

"But,  you  bet  we  gave  them  the  Showman's 
Joy  in  that  town,"  said  Mr.  McDougall  with 
energy. 


A  Model  Manager.  131 

"  What's  that  ?" 

"  Don't  you  know  what  the  Showman's  Joy 
is?  "  asked  McDougall,  quite  surprised.  "  Arte- 
mus  Ward  invented  it.  Why,  you  see,  when  a 
town  treats  you  in  the  way  that  town  treated  us, 
giving  us  nothing  of  a  house,  and  making  you  pay 
for  the  privilege  of  showing  there,  if  you're  too 
respectable  to  be  fly-by-nights,  you  just  take  your 
revenge  by  giving  them  the  Showman's  Joy." 

"  Fly-by-nights  ?  "  repeated  Madame  Pittaluga, 
inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  fly-by-nights — snappers,  you  know. 
When  you've  not  made  anything  in  a  town,  but 
lost,  you  just  say  to  all  folks  that  have  got  bills 
against  you,  '  All  right,  I'll  see  you  in  the  morn 
ing  ;  be  at  the  hotel  by  9.30  at  the  latest,  for  we 
go  North  on  the  n  A.M.  train.'  Then  when  they 
get  to  the  hotel  in  the  morning  they  find  you  non 
compos,  having  got  off  on  a  freight-train  in  the  night, 
or  left  before  daybreak  on  an  express  which  took 
you  in  a  different  direction  from  what  they  ex 
pected.  But,  that's  a  killing  business,  flying  by 
night  is.  I  used  to  do  it  when  I  traveled  with  a 
poor  minstrel  show,  but  it  ruins  your  reputation 
and  puts  a  stop  to  your  making  anything  any 
where.  But  the  Showman's  Joy  is  no  crime,  and 
don't  rob  anybody  of  a  dollar." 

"  You  ain't  told  us  what  it  is  yet,"  said  Wig 
gins. 

"  Why,  when  a  town  has  acted  so  beastly  mean 


132  A  Model  Manager. 

as  that  town  did  to  us,  the  principal  performer 
after  the  show  is  over  and  the  audience  gone,  calls 
all  the  folks  connected  with  him  up  on  the  stage,  and 
gives  every  man  of  'em  a  paper  of  chewin'  tobacco 
and  says  '  Fire  away,  boys  ! '  and  with  that  every 
man  begins  to  chew  tobacco  and  spit  all  over  the 
stage  as  hard  as  he  can  tear.  I  learned  to  chew 
tobacco  for  that  very  purpose."  Mr.  McDougall 
had  certainly  learned  this  fine  art  thoroughly  ;  and 
Madame  Pittaluga  shuddered  as  he  proceeded  to 
give  ocular  proof  of  his  proficiency. 

"  If  you'll  believe  me,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Mc 
Dougall,  sublimely  unconscious,  and  as  indifferent 
as  unconscious,  of  what  effect  he  was  making  on 
his  hearers,  "we  never  struck  a  paying  house  till 
we  left  that  line  of  road." 

"  That  was  strange,"  said  Wiggins. 

"  But  I  found  out  the  reason,"  said  McDougall. 
"  The  next  stand  we  made — a  place  said  to  be  the 
best  show  town  on  that  road — a  prominent  citizen 
walked  up  to  me  in  the  bar-room  of  the  hotel — 
one  of  those  prominent  citizens  who  don't  wear 
any  shirt-collar,  and  look  as  if  they  slept  in  their 
overcoat — and  after  drinking  most  generously  at 
my  expense,  said  :  "  You  would  have  had  a  good 
house  here,  sir — a  large  house,  sir  ;  in  fact,  I  heard 
numbers  say  when  they  heard  you  were  coming, 
that  they  guessed  may  be  they  would  go  if  the 
price  of  tickets  was  not  too  high  ;  the  chances 
were  favorable  for  your  having  a  big  house,  sir,  if 


A  Model  Manager.  133 

the  weather  had  continued  fine — but  it  will  not — I 
see  it  is  lowering,  and  our  people  will  not  turn  out 
when  it  rains — if — I  say  if — the  Bucktown  Blower 
which  is  quite  an  authority  here,  and  as  many  as  a 
dozen  copies  taken  weekly  in  our  town — had  not 
given  you  such  an  extremely  unfavorable  notice." 

"  Unfavorable  !  "  said  Madame,  with  quite  a 
little  shriek  of  surprise  ;  "  after  all  you  had  done 
for  the  editor?" 

"That  bla'guard  of  an  editor,"  said  Mr.  Mc- 
Dougal,  excitedly,  "  after  I  had  paid  him  a  print 
ing  and  advertising  bill  of  twenty-five  dollars, 
given  him  eleven  dead-head  tickets,  besides  letting 
him  pass  three  others  ;  after  he  had  condescend 
ingly  slapped  me  on  the  back  as  he  went  out,  said 
'  First-rate,'  and  asked  me  where  he  should 
send  his  paper  to  me,  had  written  and  printed  in 
his  infernal  rag  this  thing.  Read  it."  From  a 
capacious  red-leather  pocket-book,  where  it  lay 
with  a  number  of  other  clippings  from  newspapers, 
Mr.  Tony  McDougall  took  a  flimsy  bit  of  paper 
about  as  long  as  his  forefinger  and  handed  it  to 
Wiggins,  who  read  aloud  as  follows  : 

"  OLE   ROSSA. 

"  We  attended  the  so-called  concert  of  this  much  be-puffed  hum 
bug,  and  listened  for  a  few  minutes  to  the  cat-gut  caterwaulings  he 
produced  from  his  wheezy  fiddle.  A  more  outrageous  humbug  than 
this  man  we  have  never  seen,  as  there  is  several  persons  in  our  town 
who  can  play  the  fiddle  better  than  him.  The  pantaloons  he  wore 
fit  him  very  bad,  and  our  friend  Mr.  Shears  of  Main  street  says,  he 


134  A  Model  Manager. 

will  turn  out  anybody  a  pair  for  eight  dollars  that  will  take  the 
shine  off  of  them ;  if  not  he  will  take  them  back  and  refund  the 
money  to  them.  If  this  is  the  sort  of  thing  that  goes  down  in  the 
Eastern  cities  why  then  all  we  can  say  is  that  their  boasted  civiliza 
tion  is  a  sham  and  that  they  had  better  come  to  Bucktown  to  ac 
quire  a  true  refinement. 

"  In  conclusion  we  will  add  that  the  agent  is  one  of  those  stuck- 
up  fine  fellows  that  parts  their  hair  in  the  middle.  We  understand 
that  the  show  goes  from  here  to  Kidville  and  we  would  say  to  our 
friends  of  that  enterprising  locality  give  it  a  wide  berth  as  it  is  not 
worth  listening  to  ;  much  less  paying  the  extortionate  price  of  half 
a  dollar  to  get  in  at." 

"Well  I  must  say,"  remarked  Wiggins,  handing 
back  this  valuable  contribution  to  American  news 
paper  literature,  "  if  I  was  asked  what  '  pure  cuss- 
edness  '  meant,  I  should  give  that  editor's  conduct 
as  a  sample.  The  man  ought  to  be  rode  on  a  rail 
that'd  print  such  a  notice  of  Ole  Rossa  ;  one  of  the 
finest  players  I  ever  heard,  and  what's  more,  a 
gentleman,  every  inch  of  him." 

"Shake!"  cried  McDougall,  enthusiastically 
holding  out  his  hand;  "that's  the  talk!  Well, 
what  do  you  say  now  on  the  '  beat '  question  ? — 
ain't  it  six  o'  one,  and  half — "  here  he  broke  off 
the  thread  of  his  discourse  as  a  man  approached 
bearing  a  small  mountain  of  fragrant  flowers,  which 
he  handed  to  Madame  Pittaluga  and  withdrew. 
As  usual,  a  visiting  card  was  attached  to  the  offer 
ing  ;  Wiggins  coolly  picked  it  up,  read  it,  and  burst 
into  a  loud  laugh  as  he  repeated,  "  With  the  com 
pliments  of  yours  truly,  Tony  McDougall." 


A  Model  Manager.  135 

"  All  in  the  way  of  biz,  cully,"  said  Mr.  Mc- 
Dougall  in  a  low  tone  to  Mr.  Wiggins,  as  Madame 
Pittaluga  received  the  basket  with  exclamations  of 
pleasure. 

Mr.  Wiggins  smiled  a  bland  smile.  He  felt  re 
lieved. 

"  Well,  Madame  Pittaluga,"  said  the  showman, 
"  if  you  could  name  your  figure  for  one  hundred 
nights — your  very  lowest  figure,  please — the  coun 
try  is  showed  to  death  this  year." 

While  the  lady  was  deliberating  on  this  impor 
tant  question,  Mr.  Wiggins  looked  about  for  some 
excuse  to  leave  them  to  talk  over  their  business  in 
private.  The  excuse  was  right  to  his  hand.  Stu 
art  Phelps  stood  on  the  other  end  of  the  piazza, 
beckoning  the  lumber  merchant  to  come  speak 
with  him. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   SPIDER  AND   THE  FLY. 

STUART  had  not  been  out  of  bed  very  long 
when  he  beckoned  to  Mr.  Wiggins.  He  had 
awakened  after  a  dull,  senseless,  drunken  sleep,  to 
find  himself  in  his  own  bed,  and  with  a  feeling 
upon  him  as  if  he  were  recovering  from  a  hard 
fever.  When  he  attempted  to  rise,  he  found  that 
his  head  was  like  lead,  and  that  his  whole  internal 
economy  seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  dire  distress. 
"  I've  been  sick,"  he  whispered,  "  and  I'm  just 
recovering.  I  wonder  how  long  I've  been  sick." 

Turning  over  this  problem  in  his  mind,  there 
came  upon  him  by  slow  degrees  the  remembrance 
of  the  truth — and  as  this  disgraceful  knowledge 
dawned  upon  him  he  turned  his  face  upon  his  pil 
low  and  groaned  aloud.  The  pain  in  his  head  and 
the  loathsome  feeling  in  his  stomach  were  trifling 
now,  in  comparison  with  the  pain  in  his  heart  and 
the  self-reproach  that  burned  in  his  guilty  con 
science. 

"I  have  been  drunk!"  he  muttered,  with  a 
deathly  shudder.  "  Drunk  !  " 

Yes,  he  had  been  drunk  !     Stuart  Phelps  drunk  ! 


The  Spider  and  tJie  Fly.  137 

The  son  of  a  man  who  stood  so  high  in  every 
sense,  whose  honor  was  unimpeachable,  whose 
character  for  purity,  generosity,  not  even  calumny 
had  ever  dared  assail  ;  who  had  for  thirty  years 
braved  the  storms  of  business  life  in  New  York, 
and  come  out  with  a  large  fortune  honestly  earned, 
his  reputation  for  probity  unscathed  ;  a  man  who 
daily  snatched  an  hour,  and  braved  the  ridicule  of 
the  Paris-visiting  club  men  by  whom  he  was  sur 
rounded,  to  attend  prayer-meetings  at  the  old 
church  in  Fulton  Street ;  who  had  reared  this  boy 
with  tender  care,  faithfully  inculcated  in  his  breast 
every  lesson  of  virtue,  purity,  probity,  honor,  tem 
perance,  he  had  himself  so  religiously  learned — 
and  this  boy,  the  son  of  this  man,  had  been  drunk  ! 
drunk — besotted — a  jabbering  idiot,  knocked  over 
like  a  cur  by  a  justly-incensed  man  in  a  billiard- 
room  at  midnight. 

It  was  not  alone  the  first  time  Stuart  Phelps  had 
ever  been  drunk  ;  that  almost  "  goes  without  say 
ing,"  as  the  French  express  the  "  of  course  "-ness 
of  such  a  case ;  but  it  was  the  very  first  time  he 
had  ever  felt  the  power  that  lies  in  liquor.  How 
many  times  had  he  read  the  words  "  It  biteth  like 
a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an  adder,"  and  always 
without  having  any  more  conception  of  their  real 
meaning,  than  if  it  had  been  "  It"  does  anything 
which  Stuart  had  no  more  idea  of  "  Its  "  doing  to 
him,  than  he  had  of  some  poison  walking  out  of  a 
chemist's  shop,  and  killing  him.  More  than  once 


138  The  Spider  and  the  Fly, 

he  had  heard  Gough  lecture,  and  he  wondered 
deeply  that  any  man  could  race  around  a  platform, 
and  twist  his  hands  above  his  head  to  cast  off  the 
gyves  of  an  imaginary  liquor-thraldom,  and  make 
his  coat-tails  fly  in  the  air,  as  he  feigned  to  escape 
from  the  hoofs  of  a  supposititious  Death  on  the  Pale 
Horse  constructed  from  galloping  quarts  of  old  Rye 
and  Superior  Bourbon.  At  dinners — not  at  home, 
nor  at  Mr.  Underbill's,  for  at  neither  house  was  it 
ever  served — but  elsewhere,  he  occasionally  took 
wine  ;  if  it  was  red  wine,  no  matter  how  choice  the 
quality,  he  just  turned  it  into  a  large  goblet,  and 
filled  it  to  the  brim  with  water,  which  left  it  not 
strength  enough  to  harm  a  baby — and  de  Veau 
rougie  like  this  is  constantly  given  to  babies  in 
France,  where  drunkenness  is  rarely  seen,  certainly 
never  among  babies,  and  seldom  among  men.  On 
New  Year's  day,  he  made  it  a  point  never  to  take 
wine  anywhere  ;  the  reason  was  obvious  ;  refusing 
everywhere,  he  knew  he  could  not  overstep  the 
limit  of  human  capability  in  the  drinking  regard,  as 
many  men  did.  And  in  truth,  he  did  not  care  for 
wine  ;  the  only  wine  he  had  ever  drank  that  really 
tickled  his  palate,  and  made  him  long  for  more, 
was  that  of  which  he  had  partaken  in  Mrs.  Duncan's 
room. 

Mrs.  Duncan  ! 

"  I  hate  her !  "  cried  the  humiliated  soul,  beating 
his  head  with  his  hands,  "  I  hate  her  !  It  was  she 
who  brought  me  to  this.  I'll  never  see  her  again  !  " 


The  Spider  and  the  Fly.  139 

And  if  he  had  kept  his  word,  his  part  of  the 
story  might  end  here. 

"  I'll  go  to  my  Fay,"  he  said,  "  my  darling  girl ! 
She  never  would  have  given  me  wine  till  I  was 
drunk — never ! " 

With  this  resolution  he  got  out  of  bed,  deter 
mined  to  make  his  toilet  speedily,  and  carry  his  re 
solve  into  instant  execution.  But  his  trembling 
limbs  refused  to  hold  him,  and  with  a  sea-sick  whirl 
he  pitched  headlong  upon  his  bed  again,  groaning, 
disgusted,  hating  himself  and  existence. 

Then  he  dropped  off  into  a  ghastly  doze,  and 
when  he  again  awoke,  it  was  past  noon.  Once 
more  he  essayed  to  dress,  and  after  the  lapse  of  an 
hour — a  miserable,  unhappy  hour — he  finally  com 
pleted  his  toilet,  and  went  creeping  downstairs  with 
haggard  face,  and  his  wet  hair  dripping  cologne. 

As  h£  passed  the  clerk's  office,  he  saw  a  letter  in 
his  box.  When  the  clerk  gave  it  to  him,  he 
walked  outside,  and  tore  off  the  end  of  the  envelope 
abstractedly : 

It  was  from  Fay. 

"  Dearest  Stuart,"  it  said  :  "  Where  in  the  world 
did  you  betake  yourself  all  the  evening  ?  I  was  so 
dull  without  you  ;  but  no  matter,  if  you  amuse 
yourself  in  going  off  like  that,  I'm  not  going  to  tell 
you  how  I  miss  you.  We  are  going  to  Philadel 
phia  with  Cornelia  Cornwallis  to-day,  on  the  morn 
ing  train.  Papa  has  business  which  calls  him 
there,  and  mamma  thought  we  might  as  well  go 


140  The  Spider  and  the  Fly. 

on,  and  perhaps  not  return  to  the  Branch  at  all. 
She  is  tired  of  it  and  wants  to  get  home.  We  shall 
not  stay  in  Philadelphia  more  than  a  day  or  two. 
Of  course  you'll  return  to  New  York  at  once,  now 
we're  gone.  So  good-by  for  the  present,  my  dear, 
darling,  good  Stuart !  You  might  call  Thursday 
evening  at  the  house  in  town.  I  think  we'll  be 
home  then.  Ever  your  own  FAY." 

He  fairly  moaned  aloud,  when  he  found  that  the 
sweet  young  girl — his  protectress,  his  guardian 
angel— was  gone.  His  first  thought  was  to  go 
back  to  town  himself  on  the  three  o'clock  train. 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  now  two.  Should 
he  try  to  catch  that  ?  A  number  of  people  were 
walking  about  ready  to  go  ;  their  trunks  down,  and 
their  shawls  strapped  up.  Girls  were  kissing  each 
other  promiscuously ;  some  promising  to  write, 
others  to  see  each  other  in  town.  "  You  can  make 
out  my  bill,  please,"  called  Stuart,  over  the  heads 
of  half  a  dozen  men,  some  of  them  family  men,  in 
the  making  out  of  whose  accounts  the  clerk  was 
obliged  to  hunt  up  their  laundry  charges,  and  their 
livery,  and  their  wine,  and  their  meals  to  room, 
and  other  extras.  "  Make  out  my  bill,  I  say," 
cried  Stuart  again;  "I'm  going  on  this  train." 
But  the  clerk  never  so  much  as  looked  at  him. 

"  I  can  go  on  another  train  just  as  well,"  thought 
he,  and  sauntered  out  on  the  piazza  and  sat  down 
again.  The  'bus  drew  up  to  take  people  to  the  de 
pot,  and  Stuart  pulled  out  his  watch  again,  but  for- 


The  Spider  and  the  Fly.  141 

got  to  look  at  the  time — for  in  pulling  out  his 
watch  a  visiting  card  fell  from  the  pocket  of  his 
vest,  where  N.  B.  Wiggins  had  slipped  it  the  night 
before,  and  picking  it  up  Stuart  Phelps  read,  "  Mr. 
Randolph  Cabell,  Sunset-on-the-coast,  Georgia." 

Instantly,  like  a  flash,  there  rang  in  his  brain  the 
words  which  Wiggins  had  uttered  in  his  drunken 
ears  the  night  before — it  was  like  the  tune  frozen 
in  the  trumpet,  of  which  Miinchhausen  tells.  He 
had  not  heard  them  then — now  they  rang  out  shrill 
as  a  clarion's  notes.  "You're  in  for  a  duel,  you 
are."  Of  course,  of  course.  Even  the  matter-of- 
fact  Wiggins  had  seen  it.  The  Southerner  had 
knocked  him  down,  and  flung  his  card  at  him  ;  that 
meant  either  that  he,  Cabell,  was  to  challenge  him, 
Phelps,  or  that  he,  Phelps,  was  expected  by  Cabell 
to  challenge  him,  Randolph  Cabell,  of  Sunset-on- 
the-coast,  Georgia.  Rising  excitedly  from  his 
chair,  Stuart  walked  to  the  end  of  the  piazza,  and 
seeing  there  seated  the  man  he  most  wished  to 
speak  to,  beckoned  Wiggins,  half-imperatively, 
half-imploringly. 

When  Take  Notice  approached  young  Phelps 
and  observed  the  improvement  that  clean  linen, 
scrupulous  shaving,  general  tidiness,  and  it  may  be 
added,  sobriety,  had  effected  in  the  staggering,  un 
buttoned  creature  with  tumbled  hair  and  foetid 
breath,  who  had  disgraced  himself  last  night  in  the 
billiard  room,  his  thin  lips  expanded  into  a  grin 
worthy  of  a  goblin,  and  hooking  his  bony  arm  in 


142  The  Spider  and  the  Fly. 

Stuart's  he  led  the  young  man  far  out  on  the  lawn, 
so  as  to  be  sure  of  not  being  within  earshot  of 
Madame  and  the  showman,  and  then  he  said  in  a 
dry  voice  : 

"You  feel  some  better  than  you  did  last  night,  I 
guess,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  In  one  respect  I  do,  in  another  I  do  not,  Mr. 
will  you  please  tell  me  your  name  ?  " 

"  N.  B.  Wiggins,  Oshkosh,  Wisconsin,"  said 
Take  Notice,  gazing  with  steel-blue  eyes  on  the 
steel-blue  sea. 

"Mr.  Oshkosh — I  mean  Mr.  Wiggins,"  said 
Stuart,  confusedly,  "  do  you  think  I  shall  be  chal 
lenged  by  that  man  who  knocked  me  over  last 
night  ?  " 

This  was  a  day  of  fun  for  Wiggins.  The  show 
man  had  given  him  two  or  three  hearty  laughs  in 
relating  his  experiences,  and  now  here  was  a  man 
at  Long  Branch  in  the  year  187-  asking  the  matter- 
of-fact  lumberman  from  the  Lakes  whether  he 
thought  he  would  have  to  fight  a  duel !  He 
laughed  so  loud  that  the  people  came  to  the  win 
dows  of  the  hotel  to  see  who  it  was  enjoying  him 
self  so  greatly  and  what  the  fun  was  ;  observing 
which  Mr.  Wiggins  pulled  a  face  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  the  toothache,  and  even  looked  down 
the  beach  and  shook  his  head  lugubriously  as  if  to 
say :  The  man  who  was  so  thoughtless  as  to  laugh 
in  the  manner  you  heard  went  into  the  sea  to  bathe 
and  has  since  been  drowned  for  his  frivolity. 


The  Spider  and  the  Fly.  143 

"  I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  laugh  at,"  said 
Stuart,  piqued  at  the  reception  of  his  question ; 
"  you  said  yourself  I  was  in  for  a  duel." 

"  My  sakes  !  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  wuz 
sober  enough  to  understand  that !  If  I'd  thought 
you  wuz  sober  enough  to  understand  it  I  wouldn't 
a  said  it." 

Sober  enough  to  understand  !  Bitter,  humili 
ating  words  for  Stuart  Phelps  to  hear !  He 
thanked  God  his  father  was  not  there  to  hear  them. 
And  he  would  never  give  any  one  cause  to  utter 
such  words  again — of  that  he  was  fully  sure. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  my  duty  as  a  man,  as  a 
Christian,  to  go  to  that  gentleman  and  apologize 
for  having  insulted  him  so  grossly  last  night  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Take  Notice,  drawling  out  the 
well  until  it  was  almost  long  enough  to  make  a 
river,  "if you  can  make  up  your  mind  to  do  it, 
I  expect  it  would  be  the  correct  thing.  I  don't 
say  that  I  could  ask  a  man's  pardon  right  square 
out  that  way.  I'd  try  to  do  him  a  good  turn  some 
how,  and  kind  o'  fix  it  up  so." 

"  It's  very  difficult  to  fix  up  a  thing  of  this  sort," 
said  Stuart  with  a  Sigh. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  said  Wiggins,  "but  it's  a  mercy  it 
was  no  worse.  I  tell  you  I  was  thankful  neither  of 
you  drew  a  pistol.  I  was  looking  every  minute  to 
see  you  whip  out  a  revolver  from  under  your  coat- 
tails." 


144  The  Spider  and  the  Fly. 

"  I  never  carried  such  a  thing  in  my  life,"  said 
Stuart  with  disgust. 

"  It's  a  blessing  you  hadn't  one  last  night,  for 
you  were  drunk  enough  to  use  it."  Stuart  shud 
dered.  "And  it's  a  blessing  he  hadn't  either.  He 
was  mad  enough,  I  tell  you.  But  you  wuz  awful 
tantalizing,  I  must  say.  I  don't  see  but  what  you 
stand  about  square — you  hit  him  with  a  cue,  he 
knocked  you  over  the  snout." 

"Sir!"  said  Stuart,  drawing  himself  up  to  de 
fend  his  nose's  dignity.  "It  is  unnecessary  to 
compare  me  to  a  hog,  Mr.  Wiggins." 

"  That's  so — hogs  don't  get  drunk." 

Stuart  was  on  the  point  of  replying,  "They 
would,  if  they'd  had  such  sherry,"  in  the  mad 
spirit  of  buffoonery  that  sometimes  seizes  people 
with  peculiar  power  on  very  grave  occasions  ;  but 
he  refrained,  and  said  instead,  very  humbly,  "  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness  to  me,  Mr. 
Wiggins." 

Take  Notice,  who  in  reality  had  a  heart  as  soft 
as  a  woman's,  was  one  of  those  self-contained 
natures  who  are  not  given  to  expressing  their 
emotions  in  the  way  of  sympathy  and  kind  feeling. 
This  being  the  case,  although  he  felt  so  kindly  to 
ward  the  young  man  that  a  similar  state  of  feeling, 
if  he  had  been  a  woman,  would  have  been  the 
kissing  point,  he  continued  to  look  as  black  as  the 
proverbial  thunder-cloud,  rasping  his  thin  hand 
over  his  chin,  snapping  his  eyes  at  the  sea,  and  not 


The  Spider  and  the  Fly.  145 

responding  by  so  much  as  a  single  word  to  Stuart's 
continued  outpourings  of  gratitude,  self-abasement 
and  contrition  almost  tearful. 

"  I'll  see  you  again,  Mr.  Wiggins,"  said  Stuart, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  Westerner's  bony  shoulder, 
"and  if  I  meet  Mr.  Cabell  I'll  ask  his  pardon,  I 
give  you  my  word  I  will." 

He  walked  away,  leaving  Wiggins  on  the  lawn, 
and  at  the  hotel  door  he  met  the  Southerner  face 
to  face.  Stuart  was  so  startled  at  this  unexpected 
encounter,  that  for  a  moment  he  scarcely  remem 
bered  what  he  had  planned  to  do.  In  an  instant 
Cabell  had  passed  by,  leaving  behind  him  a  look 
of  scorn  and  disgust  for  the  drunkard  who  had 
struck  him  with  a  cue,  which  made  Stuart's  blood 
tingle. 

Turning  suddenly  he  called  after  him. 

"Mr.  Cabell." 

The  Southerner  wheeled  towards  him,  pale  as 
death,  but  with  resolution  written  on  every  feature. 

Stuart  raised  his  hat  and  said,  "  Mr.  Cabell,  I 
hope  you'll  be  good  enough  to  accept  my  apology 
for  my  stupid  and  insolent  behavior  of  last  night. 
I  was  not  myself,  as  you  saw ;  and  it  is  the  first 
time  such  a  disgraceful  thing  ever  happened  to  me. 
I  sincerely  regret  it  all,  I  assure  you." 

Instantly  the  Southerner's  face  lighted  up  with  a 
warm  glow. 

"  I  accept  your  apology,  sir,  with  all  my  heart. 
I  was  quite  as  much  to  blame  as  yourself." 


146  The  Spider  and  the  Fly, 

"  No,  you  were  not,"  said  Stuart,  stoutly. 

They  shook  hands,  while  Stuart's  eyes  grew 
bright  with  something  like  the  moisture  of  tears. 
They  were  not  an  unmanly  showing  either,  believe 
me.  They  were  the  offspring  of  shame  and  grat 
itude,  joy  for  a  happy  escape  from  degradation, 
sorrow  at  having  been  even  for  one  hour  degraded, 
with  the  strong,  bright,  hopeful  current  of  youth 
rushing  beneath. 

They  walked  outside  together  ;  and  fell  to  chat 
ting  pleasantly.  In  half  an  hour  it  was  surprising 
what  a  marvelously  fine  fellow  each  thought  the 
other. 

While  they  were  talking,  a  man  wearing  a  style 
of  dress  which  Stuart  thought  more  noticeable  for 
its  pronounced  character  than  for  its  fine  taste, 
asked  for  a  light.  Striking  the  ashes  from  the  end 
of  his  cigar,  Stuart  gave  it ;  and  with  a  "  thanks  !  " 
worthy  of  a  king  in  a  tragedy,  Tony  McDougall 
returned  the  fragrant  Havana ;  and  then  leaning 
against  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  balcony  the 
theatrical  speculator  stood  near  them,  puffing  in 
silence. 

Groups  of  ladies  passed  and  re-passed;  some 
walking  briskly  with  locked  arms  up  and  down  the 
piazza's  sweep  ;  others  lounging  along  heavily  as  if 
walking  at  any  pace  were  torture,  but  rapid  walk 
ing  an  impossibility  :  with  the  healthful  air  from  the 
blue  sea  blowing  into  faces  often — too  often-: — pale 
and  worn  and  tired  ;  pale,  from  constitutions  al- 


The  Spider  and  the  Fly.  147 

ready  fragile  at  birth — the  work  of  tight-lacing, 
ball-giving  mothers,  unwilling  to  shut  out  society 
for  a  whole  year  for  the  sake  of  a  mere  nobody  not 
yet  arrived,  and  of  no  possible  importance  in  the 
beau  tnonde ;  worn  and  tired — by  these  very  no 
bodies — who  managed  to  arrive  somehow,  and  to 
struggle  up  to  womanhood,  such  as  it  was. 

Happily,  all  are  not  like  this.  Some  are  bloom 
ing  as  a  rose  new-blown  ;  their  eyes  beaming  with 
healthful  sparkle,  the  dew  of  the  morning  on  lips 
ruby-red,  hair  floating  in  the  breeze.  Children, 
too,  scamper  along,  some  trundling  hoops,  others 
playing  "  tag  "  and  using,  without  so  much  as  "by 
your  leave  "  the  knees  and  backs  of  Stuart  and 
Cabell,  and  even  the  legs  of  Tony  McDougall  as 
legitimate  hiding-places  from  the  tag-antagonist. 
They  seem  like  different  creatures,  here  enjoying 
their  frank  fun  which  none  but  a  churl  would  grudge 
them  or  interfere  with,  to  the  insufferably  insolent 
miniature  men  and  women  who  at  night  invade  the 
parlors  in  their  absurd  finery  and  wrangle  about 
places  in  the  dance.  For  every  night  this  sorry 
farce  is  enacted  ;  and  most  of  the  habitues  of  the 
hotel  never  enter  the  parlor  of  an.;evening  now,  but 
sit  outside  on  the  piazza  and  look  through  the  win 
dows  at  the  monotonous  comedy  and  confess  that 
the  actors  are  well  up  in  their  parts. 

Yet  here  by  daylight  in  honest  childish  games 
one  cannot  help  admiring  the  young  creatures,  and 
giving  them  God-speed  in  what  diversion  they  may 


148  The  Spider  and  the  Fly. 

now  enjoy,  with  a  sigh  for  those  sorrows  the  grim 
sybil  Fate  is  weaving  in  her  web  to  throw  across 
their  bright  paths  when  the  dark  moment  arrives. 
With  a  little  observation  one  learns  that  most  of 
the  children  are  sweet  and  lovely  in  spite  of  what 
appears.  There  are  a  few  incorrigible  ringleaders 
in  badness  who  sometimes  turn  the  whole  drove  of 
lambs  into  howling  wolves  ;  you  soon  are  able  to 
distinguish  these  ;  and  find,  of  course,  that  they  are 
encouraged  in  their  offensive  behavior,  by  weak, 
idolizing  and  ill-bred  parents.  These  few — half 
a  dozen  at  the  outside — not  the  most  incorrigible 
child-lover  could  endure.  Nothing  but  translation 
to  another  sphere  would  make  them  tolerable,  one 
would  say.  But  there  are  others  who  are  pictures 
to  the  eye  and  music  to  the  ear.  Hear  that  peal 
of  rippling  laughter  from  that  group  of  girls,  as  one 
among  their  number  flies  with  a  speed  like  heel- 
winged  Mercury,  but  trips  against  stupid  old  Mrs. 
Barham's  dress  and  is  caught,  panting  like  the 
hart !  One  little  soul,  a  five-year-old  boy,  with 
hair  blond  d'ange,  eyes  of  the  same  hue  as  heaven, 
painted  with  the  same  brush,  skin  like  lily  petals, 
of  alabaster  translucence,  blue  veins  seen  beneath 
— an  excruciatingly  funny  little  chap,  daily  uttering 
enough  "  Another  from  our  five-year-old's  "  to  fill 
a  score  of  Harper's  Drawers  !  What  wild  prank 
is  he  on  now,  tearing  up  and  down  the  piazza  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  laughing  like  mad,  and 
yelling  at  intervals  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "  I've 


The  Spider  and  the  Fly.  149 

got  on  pants  !  I've  got  on  pants  !  "  His  ladylike 
mother — fair  like  himself,  round  as  an  apple,  short, 
heavily-built,  and  enviably  healthful,  laughingly 
explains.  The  bifurcated  garment,  badge  of  proud 
sexhood,  is  by  him  donned  now  for  the  first  time, 
they  observe  with  what  triumphant  joy;  but  she 
means  him  to  return  for  yet  a  while  to  petticoats, 
if  she  can  compass  this  end  without  injury  to  life  or 
limb,  her  own  or  his. 

Pony  Parsons,  fresh  as  a  young  colt,  trots  along 
on  springy  ankles,  the  German  at  her  side.  They 
bow  to  Stuart,  laughing  at  nothing,  but  youth 
and  lightness  of  heart.  Stuart  lifts  his  hat  and 
Cabell  follows  suit — the  bit  of  etiquette  which  bids 
a  gentleman  bow  to  his  companion's  friend  though 
all  unknown  to  himself.  Some  one  catches  the 
German  by  the  arm,  wheels  him  around,  and  asks 
him  if  he  is  having  a  good  time. 

"You  bet  I  vas  ! "  answers  Kalbfleisch,  and 
then  recognizing  the  speaker  he  cries,  "  Vy,  Boyd, 
how  you  vas  ?  Ven  you  leafe  Chigago  ?  Pretty 
hot  dere  now — not  ?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  fellow  is  really  a  Turk  ?  " 
asked  Cabell  of  Stuart  as  the  group  with  pealing 
laughter  moved  on. 

"  Who,  Kalbfleisch  ?  Why  no,  he's  a  German, 
and  a  first-rate  fellow  too." 

"  No,  no.  I  mean  that  man  who  is  selling 
trinkets  to  the  ladies  there."  He  pointed  to  a 
slender,  swarthy-complexioned  man  who  daily 


150  The  Spider  and  the  Fly. 

came — no  one  knew  from  whence — and  spread 
some  curious  wares  upon  the  piazza,  where  he 
found  frequent  purchasers  among  the  ladies  and 
children.  His  costume  consisted  of  light  blue- 
cloth  breeches  trimmed  with  gold  braid,  their  great 
fullness  gathered  at  the  knee  ;  white  stockings, 
low  shoes  ;  a  scarlet  jacket  richly  embroidered,  a 
bright  silk  scarf  tied  about  his  waist,  and  his  long 
black  hair  surmounted  by  a  scarlet  fez.  His 
wares  were  little  Moorish  articles,  jewelry,  African 
burnous,  quaint  cups  with  old  designs,  curious 
foreign  fans,  with  the  addition  of  such  homely 
and  familiar  articles  as  small  wooden  spades  and 
pails  of  native  manufacture — Jersey,  perhaps — 
and  pictured  story-books  marked  "  price  six 
pence,"  printed  in  London,  and  sold  here  for 
twenty-five  cents  and  half  a  dollar. 

"  Oh,  that  fellow!  "  said  Stuart,  laughing.  "I 
believe  he  professes  to  be  an  Algerian.  A  couple 
of  them  have  got  a  place  in  Broadway,  or  had  ;  it 
may  have  burst  up.  They  may  be  Paddies,  for 
all  I  know.  It's  easy  enough  to  hire  such  a  cos 
tume  as  that.  I  wore  one  very  similar  to  it  at  a 
masquerade  ball  last  winter." 

"  I  like  to  see  him  there,"  said  Cabell.  "  His 
costume  gives  just  the  touch  of  the  picturesque 
that  was  needed,  to  this  scene." 

Another  group  of  ladies  passed,  and  directly 
behind  them  came  a  beautiful,  bright  face, 
wreathed  in  bewitching  smiles  the  moment  the 


The  Spider  and  the  Fly.  151 

violet  eyes  fell  on  Stuart.  He  felt  a  shiver  of 
anger,  indignation,  disgust  shoot  through  his 
heart. 

Mrs.  Duncan  advanced  smilingly,  and  bowed  to 
him  with  marked  pleasure  and  admiration. 

With  a  manner  quite  as  unmistakable  as  hers 
but  in  the  directly  opposite  intention  he  stared 
in  her  face  with  cold  disdain  ;  then,  without  the 
least  inclination  of  his  head,  turned  his  eyes  away. 

The  Southerner  was  amazed.  He  found  it  dif 
ficult  to  understand  how  a  gentleman  could  treat  a 
lady  thus.  In  fact,  the  scene  was  so  very  peculiar 
that  it  startled  Tony  McDougall  into  speaking.  - 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  theatrical  speculator, 
as  with  flushed  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes  Mrs.  Dun 
can  passed  on;  "you  cut  the  'Frisco  widow! 
Ain't  you  afraid  she'll  shoot  you  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  BIT   OF  HISTORY. 

STUART  threw  his  cigar  away  with  a  long  sweep 
of  the  arm. 

Then  he  arose,  and  saying  to  Cabell,  "  Will  you 
be  good  enough  to  excuse  me  ?  "  to  which  a  touch 
of  the  hat  was  an  all-sufficient  reply,  he  turned  to 
Tony  McDougall. 

"Let  me  have  a  minute's  talk  with  you,  will 
you?" 

"  To  be  certainly  of  course,"  said  Mr.  McDou- 
gall. 

They  walked  off  together,  along  the  pathway 
by  the  summer-houses. 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Duncan?" 
asked  Stuart. 

"  No,  I  can't  say  I  am  exactly,  cully,"  was  Tony 
McDougall's  answer. 

"  My  name  is  Phelps,  not  Cully,"  said  Stuart. 
"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  formed  the  idea 
that  it  was  Cully." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  me"  said  the  showman. 
"  I'm  as  harmless  as  a  dove.  But  I've  seen  the 
widow  before." 


A  Bit  of  History.  153 

"  You  spoke  in  so  positive  a  tone  concerning 
her  that  I  thought  surely  you  must  have  known 
her." 

"  Well,  I  tell  you,"  said  Tony,  perching  his 
hat  forward  on  his  nose  to  ward  off  a  dying  sun 
beam  ;  "the  fact  is,  I've  been  in 'Frisco — went 
there  with  the  Chattacarettes — you  know  the  Chat- 
tacarettes,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not  the  honor  of  their  acquaint 
ance,"  said  Stuart. 

"They're  acrobats;  father,  mother,  two  sons, 
three  daughters,  their  husbands  and  wives,  and  six 
grandchildren." 

"  A  numerous  party.  Were  they  all  acro 
bats  ?  "  asked  Stuart,  interested  in  spite  of  himself 
— being  a  frequenter  of  gymnasiums  and  fond  of 
these  graceful  feats  of  strength. 

"Yes,  all  of  them.  The  father  and  mother, 
they  danced  the  tightrope  with  and  without  the 
aid  of  the  balance  pole ;  the  sons*  and  daughters 
did  the  trapeze  act  and  the  revolving  globes,  and 
the  little  midgets  did  carpet  postures  and  summer 
saults." 

"  But,  about  Mrs.  Duncan  ?  "  said  Stuart. 

"  Yes,  I'm  a  coming  to  her.  You  see  the  Chat 
tacarettes  promised  to  be  a  big  thing.  But,  such 
luck  !  The  first  night  the  old  woman  fell  off  the 
tightrope  and  lamed  her  back  ;  the  next  night  the 
young  man  Julian  tumbled  from  the  trapeze  head 
downwards  into  the  orchestra  ;  two  nights  after- 
7* 


154  A  Bit  of  History. 

wards  four  of  the  children  was  laid  up  with  the 
measles ;  then  their  father  got  low-spirited  and 
went  on  a  big  drunk,  and  the  agent  had  his  peri 
odical  epileptic  fits.  So  I  threw  up  the  engage 
ment." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  said  Stuart,  half  amused  and 
half  sympathetic.  "And  it  was  while  in  San  Fran 
cisco  with  this  party  that  you  saw  Mrs.  Duncan  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her  frequently.  She  was  mighty 
gay.  She  seems  kind  o'  quieted  down  now.  She 
used  to  be  at  one  theatre  or  another  every  night. 
She  was  the  wife  of  a  leading  man  there.  In  the 
daytime  she  generally  had  a  fast  team  and  drove 
out  to  the  Clifif  House.  The  general  opinion  ap 
peared  to  be  that  she'd  pull  a  trigger  mighty  quick 
on  anybody  that  insulted  her.  /never  insulted 
her,  you  bet!  " 

"  I  suppose  I  have  done  so,"  said  Stuart,  curtly. 

•'  Well,  it  looks  like  it,  cully.  I  wouldn't  stand 
in  your  clogs  not  for  no  small  amount  of  money. 
You  see  them  'Frisco  folks  ain't  like  they  are  here. 
If  they  get  mad  at  you,  they  don't  go  to  shooting 
off  their  mouths  like  a  lot  of  hamfatters,  they  just 
make  you  eat  lead." 

In  this  cheerful  strain  Mr.  McDougall  continued 
for  some  time,  the  two  men  meanwhile  walking  up 
the  shore  road.  When  they  were  opposite  a  res 
taurant  which  stands  about  midway  on  the  beach, 
"  Won't  you  come  in  and  have  a  little  poison  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  McDougall. 


A  Bit  of  History.  155 

"  No,  thank  you.  I — I  never  drink — that  is,  I 
never  desire  to  drink.  Excuse  my  leaving  you  so 
abruptly.  It  is  growing  dark.  Here's  a  'bus  com 
ing,  it  will  take  me  back  to  the  hotel." 

Tony  touched  his  hat  in  as  near  the  manner 
Cabell  had  done  as  he  was  able  to  imitate  thus 
unexpectedly  ;  and  Stuart,  stepping  into  the  omni 
bus,  was  driven  rapidly  to  the  hotel. 

Stuart  had  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  the  Branch 
the  next  morning.  Since  sunset  a  cold  wind  had 
sprung  up  and  people  were  shivering  along  by  the 
bleak  shore  as  if  the  almanacs  had  turned  several 
leaves  at  once  and  thus  sent  people  by  mistake 
from  September  to  January.  For  days  past  the 
crowds  had  been  thinning ;  and  very  likely  in  a 
week  to  come  there  would  remain  hardly  a  trace 
of  the  gay  throngs  who  had  wandered  along  these 
roads  in.  the  soft  moonlight,  disported  themselves 
in  the  dashing  sea  at  morning,  flirted  on  the  piazzas 
at  noon,  hopped  in  the  parlors  at  night. 

The  first  person  Stuart  jostled  against  in  the 
office  was  Cabell.  "You  seem  in  a  hurry,"  said 
Stuart,  smiling,  as  their  elbows  came  into  violent 
collision. 

"  Yes  ;  my  wife  wants  to  go  by  the  early  morn 
ing  train,  and  I  am  getting  my  things  together." 

It  was  like  an  epidemic.  Everybody  was  going. 
It  seemed  as  if  to-morrow  the  enormous  house 
would  be  completely  depopulated — there  where  a 
week  before  beds  had  been  made  in  hall-ways,  and 


1 56  A  Bit  of  History. 

the  ghastly  parlor  had  had  after  midnight  the  look 
of  a  hospital.  In  vain  hotel  proprietors  wandered 
about  among  the  guests  asserting  with  an  assurance 
born  of  great  knowledge  or  greater  hope  that  this 
was  only  a  cold  snap,  and  that  in  twenty-four 
hours  the  heat  would  be  greater  than  ever.  No 
use.  The  seashore  was  doomed  for  that  season. 
The  city  in  its  fashionable  quarters  had  been 
likened  to  a  Necropolis  by  topic-lacking  writers 
for  the  press  ;  now  the  Necropolis  was  building  by 
the  sea,  and  the  city,  "like  Richard,"  said  the 
topic-lacking  writers,  "  is  itself  again." 

In  one  of  the  rooms  where  preparations  for  de 
parture  were  going  on,  were  two  women  whom  we 
know ;  one  walking  the  floor  with  agitated  foot 
steps  and  talking  rapidly  to  her  companion,  the 
spectacled  woman  who  was  kneeling  on  the  floor 
packing  trunks. 

"  Marcia,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  suddenly  sitting, 
and  drawing  her  chair  close  to  her  companion, 
"what  would  you  do  if  a  man  were  to  insult  you  ?  " 

"That  depends,"  said  Marcia,  stopping  her 
work  and  looking  into  the  eager,  handsome,  violet 
eyes  she  knew  so  well,  "it  depends  on  who  the 
man  was,  and  what  sort  of  an  insult  it  was." 

"  Which  are  both  things  I  don't  care  to  tell  you," 
said  Mrs.  Duncan,  rising  impatiently.  "  As  usual, 
I  am  without  advice,  without  help  in  every  situa 
tion  I  find  myself." 

"  You  couldn't  expect  a  person  to  advise  you 


A  Bit  of  History.  157 

without  knowing  some  of  the  circumstances,"  said 
the  woman,  quietly  resuming  her  work. 

"  I  am  very  unreasonable,  I  suppose,  as  usual." 

"  Yes,  as  usual." 

There  was  silence  after  this,  during  which  the 
sounds  of  packing  were  heard  incessantly.  Mrs. 
Duncan  paid  little  or  no  attention  to  them  until 
the  rattle  of  paper  caught  her  ear. 

"What's  that?"  she  said,  turning  quickly  from 
the  window  out  of  which  she  had  been  looking. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  I  found  in  the  pocket  of  your 
black  dress,"  answered  Marcia,  holding  up  a 
crumpled  sheet  of  paper. 

"Give  it  to  me,"  cried  the  widow.  "I  would 
not  have  any  one  see  this  letter,"  said  she,  clutch 
ing  it  tightly,  "for  worlds." 

"Why  don't  you  burn  it  up  then?"  asked 
Marcia  with  an  imperturbable  face,  utterly  without 
expression  of  any  kind. 

"Why  don't  you  ask  questions  about  matters 
that  don't  concern  you  ?  "  snapped  out  Mrs.  Dun 
can,  who  was  in  a  most  unenviable  ill-temper  this 
evening. 

Marcia  smiled  a  grim  smile,  with  her  back  to 
her  mistress — who  fell  to  reading  the  oft-read 
letter  again,  as  if  it  fascinated  her.  And  again  its 
reading  seemed  to  awaken  scorn,  hatred,  disgust, 
and  stifled  fury. 

"I  could  kill  you!  "she  hissed,  between  her 
teeth. 


158        Pony  takes  the  Bit  in  her  Mouth. 

"  Me  ?  "  inquired  Marcia,  quietly  looking  up 
from  her  work. 

"  The  writer  of  this  letter,"  explained  her  mis 
tress  with  a  gloomy  brow.  "  Not  but  what  I 
sometimes  feel  as  if  I  could  kill  you  too — you  and 
myself  and  all  the  world." 

"  The  easiest  way  to  settle  the  matter,"  said 
Marcia,  with  a  grim  attempt  at  humor,  "  would 
be  to  kill  the  person  who  has  put  you  in  such  a 
bad  temper." 

Mrs.  Duncan  rose  to  her  feet  and  stood  staring 
at  her  attendant  with  a  face  which  grew  paler  and 
paler,  until  it  was  at  last  like  the  face  of  a  phan 
tom  ;  but  her  eyes  were  ablaze  with  fury. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

PONY  TAKES  THE  BIT  IN  HER  MOUTH. 

THE  event  which  led  Cornelia  Cornwallis  to  re 
turn  to  Philadelphia  was  the  celebration,  by  a 
soiree  intime,  of  her  birthday.  The  anniversary 
fell,  somewhat  to  her  annoyance,  at  that  period  of 
the  year  when  almost  all  of  the  fashionable  set  to 
which  she  belonged  were  still  out  of  town.  Not 
withstanding  this,  it  was  not  often  she  was  troubled 
by  unpleasantly  hot  weather  at  her  birthday  party  ; 
for  the  first  week  in  September  generally  sees  the 


Pony  takes  the  Bit  in  her  Mouth.         159 

beginning  of  that  delicious  season  of  soft  hazy  days 
and  cool  breezeless  evenings,  which  lasts  some 
times  till  the  very  beginning  of  December ;  is 
peculiar  to  America  ;  and  is  sent,  it  is  fair  to  be 
lieve,  as  a  recompense  for  those  fierce  snow-storms, 
and  for  those  killing,  maddening  heats  which,  at 
their  allotted  season,  make  life  a  torture. 

With  the  most  of  her  set  out  of  town,  Cornelia 
Cornwallis  always  had  some  difficulty  in  getting 
together  enough  people  to  give  a  soiree — even  the 
most  intime.  In  the  winter,  all  of  Philadelphia's 
best,  s ' arrachaient — literally  rent  itself — in  its 
efforts  to  obtain  invitations  to  the  Cornwallis 
soirees.  And  if,  even  at  this  season,  Cornelia  had 
been  willing  to  allow  her  inflexible  line  of  demarca 
tion  to  waver  in  never  so  little,  she  might  have 
had  her  parlors  filled,  in  the  first  week  of  Septem 
ber,  with  a  crowd  of  amiable  persons,  as  well- 
dressed,  as  well-mannered,  as  rich  and  as  enter 
taining  as  those  who  later  in  the  year,  moved 
through  the  gorgeous  salons  of  the  superb  man 
sion,  in  their  various  forms  of  youth  and  beauty, 
age  and  ugliness,  wealth  or  poverty,  virtue  or  vice. 
But  no  ;  Cornelia  was  as  adamant  on  this  point. 
She  conceded  the  various  good  qualities  claimed 
for  the  people  proposed  as  candidates  for  invita 
tions  to  her  soiree ;  they  were  well-dressed  (yes, 
certainly ;  better  dressed  than  many  who  were 
seen  and  cordially  received  in  the  Cornwallis  par 
lors  ;  better  dressed  than  her  Aunt  Cornelia,  who 


160        Pony  takes  the  Bit  in  her  Mouth. 

was  an  undeniable  fright,  wore  an  old-fashioned 
scratch,  carried  a  reticule,  was  worth  a  million 
and  spent  half  the  year  with  her  relatives,  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Collonie  in  England) ;  they 
had  good  manners,  these  worthy  candidates,  Cor 
nelia  admitted  it — money,  fine  houses,  carriages, 
et  cetera  ;  but — fatal  monosyllable  !  they  were  not 
the  ton. 

Fay  Underhill  generally  went  to  all  Cornelia's 
parties.  These  girls,  who  never  earned  a  penny 
in  their  lives,  and  to  whom  money  and  time  were 
but  vehicles  provided  for  their  enjoyment,  thought 
scarcely  more  of  a  trip  between  New  York  and 
Philadelphia,  than  you  or  I  would  of  one  in  a  stage 
between  Union  Square  and  the  Battery.  Nothing 
was  more  common  than  for  Fay  to  telegraph  Cor 
nelia  in  the  morning,  "  Come  over  for  this  even 
ing  ;  Stuart  and  a  few  others  ;  "  or  for  Cornelia  to 
telegraph  to  Fay,  "  Box  opera  Traviata  to-night, 
come,"  and  either  Fay  or  Cornelia  as  the  case 
might  be,  accompanied  by  a  maid,  would  get  seats 
in  a  drawing-room  car,  and  after  a  three  hours' 
ride,  arrive  in  immaculate  and  untumbled  attire, 
at  the  other's  abode. 

On  the  strength  of  her  eminent  father's  emi 
nence,  Pony  Parsons  got  invitations  to  the  Corn- 
wallis  parties,  though  more  than  once  Cornelia 
had  said  to  her  plainly,  "  Miss  Parsons,  if  you 
continue  to  be  such  extremely  bad  form,  I  shal] 
cease  sending  you  invitations  to  my  parties." 


Pony  takes  the  Bit  in  Jicr  Mouth.         161 

"No  matter,"  said  Pony,  with  a  laugh  like  a 
colt's  whinny  ;  "  I'll  come  without." 

Cornelia  had  invited  Pony  quite  cordially  at  the 
Branch  to  come  to  her  birthday  party  ;  and  as 
soon  as  she  had  done  so,  Pony  asked  her  to  invite 
Hermann  Kalbfleisch. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  such  a  thing !  "  ejacu 
lated  Cornelia. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Pony,  viciously. 

"  Because  I  don't  know  anything  about  him." 

"Well,  I  like  that!  You've  talked  with  him, 
laughed  with  him,  played  croquet  with  him,  and 
listened  to  his  music  by  the  hour." 

"That's  not  knowing  him.  I  might  be  even 
more  intimate  with  him  than  that  at  a  watering- 
place,  and  yet  ignore  him  in  town." 

"  Kind  !"  was  Pony's  sneering  comment. 

"  Cest  comme  $ela"  returned  Cornelia,  coolly. 

"Why,  he  was  presented  to  you  by  Stuart 
Phelps,"  urged  Pony 

"  Stuart  Phelps  only  met  him  here  ;  and  besides, 
Stuart  Phelps  is  not  a  person  to  feel  the  great  im 
portance  of  caution  in  this  regard.  If  it  were  Mr. 
Phelps,  Stuart's  father,  who  had  presented  him,  1 
should  feel  differently." 

"  I  guess  old  Mr.  Phelps  has  got  something 
better  to  do  than  to  go  around  hunting  up  r«en's 
pedigrees  and  presenting  them  to  you,"  said  Pony, 
with  a  pout. 

"  To  present  men  or  pedigrees  to  me  is  a  ser- 


1 62        Pony  takes  the  Bit  in  her  Mouth. 

vice  I  shall  never  require  either  of  young  or  old 
Mr.  Phelps,"  replied  the  imperturbable  Miss  Corn- 
wallis. 

"Why,  look  here,"  cried  Pony,  impetuously, 
determined  to  get  her  German  friend  invited  to  the 
splendid  house  if  she  could,  both  for  her  pleasure 
and  for  his  ;  "  Mrs.  Barham  is  his  cousin,  and  she 
says  he's  a  baron  or  something." 

"  The  '  something  '  is  well  put,  Pony,"  replied 
Cornelia,  with  a  smile.  ''That  ridiculous  old 
Barham  says  he  is  a  baron  ;  he  says  his  father  was 
a  vine-planter  on  the  Rhine.  Which  is  the  more 
likely  to  be  right  ?  And,  besides,  who  is  Barham 
herself?" 

"  When  she's  dressed,"  added  Pony,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Dressed  or  undressed,"  said  Cornelia  stiffly, 
"  she  is  always  an  old  humbug,  who  is  forever  pre 
tending  she's  got  blue  blood,  when  all  she's  got  in 
reality  is  greenbacks.  She's  rich  ;  ergo,  she  gets 
into  society  in  New  York — qela  va  sans  dire.  I've 
got  nothing  to  say  against  it.  But  that  isn't 
enough  for  Philadelphia  ;  and  I'm  told  that  in  Bos 
ton  nobody  whatever  notices  her." 

That  was  the  end  of  the  conversation  ;  and  if 
anything  was,  or  should  have  been,  clearly  under 
stood,  it  was  that  Hermann  Kalbfleisch  was  not 
invited  to  Miss  Cornwallis's  birthday  party. 

Now,  on  the  afternoon  when  Stuart  and  Cabell 
sat  on  the  piazza  together,  and  Fay  Underhill  and 


Pony  takes  the  Bit  in  her  Moiith.        163 

Cornelia  Cornwallis,  accompanied  by  parents  and 
guardians,  had  gone  to  Philadelphia,  Pony  and 
Kalbfleisch  were  prancing  about,  in  the  parlor  and 
out,  on  the  piazza  and  off,  to  the  beach  and  back, 
here  and  there,  everywhere  and  nowhere,  as  full  of 
youth  and  spirits  as  any  two  mortals  who  ever 
passed  through  this  vale  of  tears. 

When  at  length,  fairly  tired  out,  they  ran  into 
the  parlor  and  sat  down  on  a  sofa  with  a  thump  as 
if  springs  were  born,  not  made,  and  bloomed 
perennially  for  the  benefit  of  watering-place  hotels, 
Pony  found  courage  to  tell  Hermann  that  she  was 
to  leave  the  Branch  to-morrow,  not  to  return. 

Kalbfleisch's  face  fell. 

"  You  go  avay  ?  "  he  said,  looking  down  at  the 
carpet  very  soberly. 

"  Yes,  I  must ;  I  have  to,"  said  Pony.  "  Must 
pull  up  somewhere  ;  can't  drive  forever  round  and 
round  this  course  ;  got  to  turn  her  nose  homewards 
sometime." 

"But  vat  vor  you  go  to-morrow  so  quick? 
You  kin  stay  a  little  longer.  Not  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't ;  because  the  day  after  to-morrow 
is  Cornelia  Cornwallis's  party,  and — " 

"Miss  Gornwallis  she  gif  a  barty?"  asked  the 
German. 

"  Yes ;  in  celebration  of  her  birthday.  Oh, 
she's  young,  Cornelia  is.  You  can  tell  by  her 
teeth." 

Hermann  looked  at  her  fixedly. 


1 64        Pony  takes  the  Bit  in  her  Mouth. 

"  I  vish  I  could  come  to  dot  barty." 

Pony  afterward  declared  that  "it  said  itself." 
"  It"  took  her  little  mouth  and  "  it"  put  it  close 
to  his  pink  ear  and  "  it  said  itself,"  right  down  into 
the  interior  workings  of  his  auricular  organs, 
"  Come  along  !  " 

"  But  she  didn't  invite  me,"  said  Hermann. 

"  There  are  no  set  invitations  out,"  said  this 
naughty  Pony,  falteringly.  "  It's  just  a  little  party 
— a  soiree  inthne.  I  think  she  meant  you  to 
come,"  she  added,  with  a  gulp,  as  if  she  were 
swallowing  something  very  hard. 

The  truthful,  conscientious  Pony  to  fib  !  What 
must  the  temptation  have  been  ! 

"  Doos  you  really?"  said  he.  "I  vish  I  vas 
sure  of  dat.  Den  I  goes  mighty  quick.  I  like  to 
go  so  to  be  mit  you  ;  and  you  like  to  have  me  ?  " 
he  inquired  in  a  very  lover-like  whisper — "  Not  ?  " 

Pony  afterwards  said,  in  explaining  that  "it 
said  itself,"  that  she  had  always  seen  the  force  of 
the  remark,  that  one  might  as  well  be  hung  for  a 
sheep  as  a  lamb.  Acting  on  this  principle,  she  now 
burst  out  boldly  with  the  astonishing  asseveration 
that  Cornelia  had  talked  particularly  with  her,  Pony, 
about  his,  Kalbfleisch's,  coming  to  her  party  ;  that 
she  had  no  doubt  at  all  that  Cornelia  would  on  ho 
account  allow  him,  Kalbfleisch,  to  entertain  the 
idea  of  failing  to  come  ;  and  she  was  convinced 
that  the  happiness  of  her,  Cornelia's,  whole  life 
depended  on  the  presence  of  him,  Hermann,  on 


Fishing  for  a   Title.  165 

this   particular    birthday   and    at    this    particular 
soiree  intime. 

And,  as  a  consequence,  the  coffers  of  the  com 
pany  running  railway  cars  to  Philadelphia  received 
the  next  day  the  fares  of  Pony  Parsons,  father, 
mother  and  maid  ;  and  were  further  enriched  by 
the  price  of  a  ticket  for  one  first-class  passage 
bought  and  paid  for  by  Mr.  Hermann  Kalbfleisch, 
of  Chicago. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
FISHING  FOR  A  TITLE. 

THE  Cornwallis  mansion  in  Philadelphia  was  on 
an  aristocratic  street  running  from  river  to  river  ; 
it  stood  on  a  corner,  and  ran  back  many  feet  on  a 
side  street,  and  this  side  street  was  one  of  the 
Twenties — high  "up-town"  indeed  for  Philadel 
phia.  The  house  was  built  of  creamy  yellow 
stone,  and  had  Corinthian  pillars  in  front.  A 
broad  lawn,  carefully  tended,  beautified  with 
flower-beds  and  fountains,  spread  itself  out  before 
the  long  windows,  opening  to  the  ground,  of  the 
lower  story.  Outside,  the  Cornwallis  house  was 
comfortable  looking,  even  handsome  ;  inside  it  was 
more — it  was  gorgeous. 

If  the  fortunes  of  the  Cornwallis  family  had  been 


1 66  Fishing  for  a   Title. 

in  any  degree  impaired  by  the  war,  then  it  can 
only  be  supposed  that  this  house  had  been  furnished 
before  that  period  ;  for  lavish  expenditure — not 
reckless  expenditure,  because  everything  was  in 
trinsically  valuable — but  that  expenditure  whose 
guide  is  taste,  and  fitness,  and  beauty,  and  these 
alone,  had  gathered  these  statues,  hung  these  pic 
tures,  chosen  this  admirable  furniture,  these  count 
less  objets  d'art,  which  surprised  you  into  admira- 
t:on  at  every  turn. 

On  entering  the  house  you  found  yourself  in  a 
wide  hall,  at  whose  remote  end  stretched  away  a 
staircase  regally  broad,  with  steps  hardly  taller 
than  the  length  of  a  lady's  finger.  To  the  right 
and  left,  off  the  hall — itself  furnished  with  marble 
columns,  rich  carpets,  and  carved  oaken  furniture 
of  evident  antiquity — noble  salons  ran  the  entire 
length  of  the  house ;  this,  the  drawing-room, 
gorgeous  in  yellow  satin  and  gold  ;  opposite,  on 
the  side  street,  the  picture-gallery,  lit  only  from 
the  ceiling  ;  at  back  the  great  dining-hall,  whose 
height  was  that  of  the  entire  house — no  rooms 
above  it,  a  true  baronial  hall,  hung  with  family 
portraits  ;  with  at  one  end  a  gallery  for  musicians, 
and  at  the  other  one  of  the  finest  conservatories  in 
the  city,  whose  buds  and  blossoms  were  constantly 
admired  through  their  walls  of  glass  by  the  passers- 
by  on  that  street  which  is  among  the  Twenties. 
Above  stairs  was  a  dark,  richly  furnished  library, 
with  bookcases  built  in  the  walls  and  reaching  from 


Fishing  for  a   Title.  167 

floor  to  ceiling  ;  and  next  this  was  Cornelia's  tiny 
boudoir,  hung  with  blue  satin  and  silver,  and  not 
a  single  antique  thing  in  it,  but  all  new  and  spark 
ling  and'  bright,  fresh  from  an  upholsterer's  hands 
— let  Cornelia  grumble  at  their  altered  fortunes  as 
she  might — at  least  once  in  every  two  years.  And 
all  these  rooms  and  others  were  thrown  open,  and 
a  dozen  servants  were  moving  busily  about  for  the 
soiree  intime,  which  Cornelia  had  calculated  would 
not  number  more  than  two  score  persons  at  the 
outside. 

Fay  thought  she  had  never  seen  Cornelia  look 
lovelier  than  on  this  evening,  although  she  had 
seen  Cornelia  on  many  occasions,  and  Cornelia  was 
one  of  those  girls  who  always  looked  lovely. 
Such  a  thing  as  care  she  had  never  known  ;  pov 
erty  she  was  as  much  acquainted  with  as  she  was 
with  hunger  ;  she  may  have  been  detained  from 
her  dinner  by  some  accident  on  some  occasion  and 
so  known  hunger  ;  and  she  may  have  wanted  a 
diamond  she  saw  in  a  jeweler's  window  and  had  to 
wait  for  it  a  few  weeks  till  certain  rents  were  paid, 
or  certain  interests  became  due.  This  was  the  ex 
tent  of  the  self-denials  that  had  ever  been  required 
of  her.  Not  being  able  to  spend  their  income  in 
Philadelphia,  and  preferring  to  live  there  to  any 
other  city  in  the  world,  the  Cornwallis  family  had 
suffered  no  inconvenience  whatever  from  the  loss 
of  their  Southern  estates  beyond  the  knowledge 
that  less  money  was  accumulating  for  them  who 


1 68  Fishing  for  a   Title. 

had  already  more  than  they  knew  what  to  do 
with. 

Cornelia  was  twenty-six  years  old ;  not  young 
for  a  spinster,  according  to  American  ideas,  in 
spite  of  her  teeth,  which  were  fine.  There  was  a 
sort  of  dead  level  of  excellence  in  all  Cornelia's 
features  which  contributed  in  no  small  degree  to 
that  invariable  loveliness  which  was  in  marked  con 
trast  to  the  "good"  and  "bad  day"  beauty  of 
most  girls.  Pony  was  one  of  these  ;  on  some  days 
her  eyes  seemed  to  take  on  new  brilliancy,  her 
hair  was  glossier  and  more  curly,  her  cheeks  glowed 
as  if  they  were  afire  ;  and  on  other  days,  and 
without  apparent  reason  too,  her  eyes  looked  dull, 
her  cheeks  pale,  her  hair  was  as  straight  as  "  black 
Bess's  mane,"  she  would  say,  twisting  it  around 
her  fingers  and  pulling  it  till  she  hurt  herself. 
Fay  Underhill  also  had  her  "  good  days  ;  "  but  in 
her  case  the  matter  seemed  to  be  easily  attributa 
ble  to  the  fact  that  some  colors  were  becoming  to 
her  and  some  were  not. 

But,  Cornelia  Cornwallis  invariably  looked  Avell. 
She  had  no  one  particular  beauty  that  asserted 
itself  in  a  dazzling  way.  Her  hair,  her  eyes,  what 
colorwere  they  ?  "  Sort  o'  darkish — kind  o'  bay," 
Pony  was  wont  to  explain.  Whatever  they  were 
they  harmonized  well  with  Cornelia's  complexion, 
which  was  the  one  marked  beauty  about  her.  It 
was  of  that  creamy  opaqueness  seen  on  the  wax- 
like  petals  of  the  camelia  ;  no  excitement,  no  danc- 


Fishing  for  a   Title.  169 

ing,  no  exertion  of  any  kind  ever  flushed  or 
changed  it ;  it  was  the  identical  tcint  mat  consid 
ered  by  the  Parisians  as  true  an  evidence  of  aristo 
cratic  birth  as  the  "  short  upper  lip  "  was  of  the 
same  thing  by  Byron. 

When  to  the  rare  attraction  of  this  fair  skin  you 
add  the  further  fact  that  her  figure  was  admirably 
moulded,  her  arms  especially  a  study  for  a  sculp 
tor,  her  waist  round  and  not  too  slender,  and  her 
shoulders  always  thrown  back  in  a  sufficiently  dig 
nified  way  to  satisfy  the  most  inexorable  teacher 
of  deportment,  it  is  not  astonishing  that  one  of  the 
most  fiequent  apostrophes  to  her  charms  was : 
"  Beautiful  statue  !  " 

"Well,  you  are  a  good  deal  like  one  of '  them 
stone  gals,'  "  said  Pony  facetiously,  after  reading  a 
sonnet,  beginning  thus,  and  sent  anonymously  in 
a  box  of  bonbons. 

Cornelia  had  not,  so  far  as  was  publicly  known, 
received  an  offer  of  marriage.  The  fact  is  she 
might  be  said  to  present  the  strange  paradox  of  be 
ing  so  eligible  a  parti  as  to  be  an  ineligible  one. 
Who,  even  among  the  exclusive  set,  possessed  the 
courage  to  offer  himself  to  her  hundreds  of  thou 
sands  of  dollars,  her  beauty,  her  aristocracy,  and 
ask  her  to  exchange  her  high-sounding  name  for 
his  patronymic,  whatever  it  might  be  ?  So  the 
brave  sex  fluttered  about  her,  sighed  for  her,  sent 
her  bonbons,  flowers,  and  occasionally  ventured  on 
the  intimacy  of  a  present  of  richly-bound  books, 
8 


1 70  Fishing  for  a   Title. 

or  a  small  objet  dart;  never  attempting  the 
lover-like  decorating  his  "  girl,"  of  a  gift  of  jewelry, 
of  course  ;  and  only  on  holidays  venturing  the 
books.  But  no  one  proposed. 

"The  ice-like  frigidity  of  her  refusal,"  said  one 
young  fellow  to  another  at  the  Philadelphia  club, 
"  would  be  worse  than  a  black  eye  from  any  male 
member  of  her  family." 

When  the  Cornwallises  were  last  abroad,  rumors 
of  an  alliance  for  Cornelia  had  been  wafted  back  to 
this  country,  and  the  best  society  of  the  three  At 
lantic  cities  was  on  tip-toe  to  know  who  it  might 
be.  If  a  foreigner,  had  he  a  title  ? — and  if  he  had, 
was  it  English  or  Continental  ? 

He  was  a  French  Marquis,  with  a  name  which  is 
frequently  seen  in  French  history,  particularly 
prominent  during  the  reign  of  Charles  X.  Thus 
far  everything  was  satisfactory.  Cornelia  had 
given  the  subject  some  consideration,  and  had  once 
or  twice  scribbled  the  name  "  Cornelie,  Marquise  de 

,"  to  see  how  the  signature  would  look.  It 

looked  very  well,  Cornelia  thought ;  and  the  pros 
pect  of  being  addressed  as  "Madame  la  Marquise" 
actually  sent  a  little  glow  of  pride  and  gratified  van 
ity  to  flush  the  marble-like  cheek  of  the  Philadel 
phia  beauty.  The  gentleman's  appearance  was 
sufficiently  agreeable.  True,  he  was  forty-eight, 
according  to  his  own  confession ;  gray  where  he 
was  not  bald,  and  bald  where  he  was  not  gray ;  of 
a  rotundity  of  figure  the  reverse  of  poetical ;  but 


Fishing  for  a   Title.  171 

his  manners  were  dignified,  his  language  choice — 
not  a  tinge  of  Second  Empire  slang  soiling  his  pure 
diction  ;  his  air  of  deference  towards  Cornelia  was 
very  flattering  to  her ;  and  above  all  and  through 
all  was  the  fact  that  his  name  was  incontestably  a 
fine  one,  had  been  borne  for  centuries  by  preux 
chevaliers  of  the  ancient  time,  who  waved  aloft  on 
gory  battle-fields  the  lilies  of  France,  and  died 
shouting  "For  my  lady,  my  country  and  my 
king  !  "  m 

"  He  has  some  queer  capers,"  Cornelia  was  once 
moved  to  say  in  regard  to  her  Marquis  ;  and  that  a 
gentleman  so  formal  in  his  manners  as  was  the 
Marquis  should  ever  descend  to  a  thing  of  such 
questionable  dignity  as  a  "caper"  seemed  very 
strange.  The  peculiarity  to  which  Cornelia  re 
ferred  was  a  curious  and  marked  penchant  on  the 
part  of  the  French  nobleman  to  frequent  the  busi 
ness  streets  of  Paris.  When  he  was  seated,  by  in 
vitation,  in  the  luxurious  caleche  or  the  high- 
swinging  U  Orsay  of  the  Cornwallis  family,  drawn 
by  their  spanking  bays,  sometimes  four  of  them, 
whose  ringing  hoofs  made  musical  clatter  on  the 
admirably-paved  streets,  whose  gold-mounted  har 
ness  glittered  in  the  bright  sun,  and  whose  resetted 
ears  twitched  with  pride  and  pleasure,  Monsieur  le 
Marquis  would  lean  forward  and  say  with  truly 
aristocratic  languor  : 

"  An  annoying  little  course  I  forgot  to  take,  and 
which  must  be  attended  to  !  Would  you  be  so  ami- 


172  Fishing  for  a   Title. 

able  ? — thanks,  a  thousand  times.  Coachman,  rue 
Richelieu,  number — . " 

They  found  it  was  some  jeweler's  shop,  or  a  dis 
tinguished  tailor's — ll  fournissetir  de  leurs  majeste's 
et  de  leurs  alt  esses  Imperiales  et  royalcs" — half  the 
Almanach  de  Gotha !  The  Marquis  descended, 
stayed  but  an  instant,  was  accompanied  back  to 
the  door  by  a  respectful  tradesman  who  looked 
complacently  at  the  carriage  and  its  inmates,  then 
bowed  low  to  all  as  they  drove  away  in  the  direc 
tion  of  thQ  Champs  Elysees  and  the  Bois. 

"  I  wish  he'd  take  a  fiacre  at  two  francs  an  hour 
and  do  his  errands  before  he  comes  to  us,"  said 
Cornelia  very  impatiently  one  afternoon,  as  this 
performance  was  repeated  for  at  least  the  dozenth 
time  ;  yet  when  the  tradesman  came  to  his  door 
with  the  Marquis  and  bowed  low  and  rubbed  his 
hands  together  obsequiously  and  said  in  a  tone  so 
loud  that  some  passers  heard  him  and  turned  to 
look  at  the  distinguished  personage  whom  he  was 
addressing  and  by  whose  patronage  he  was  hon 
ored,  "  Bien,  Monsieur  le  Marquis  !  You  can  rely 
upon  its  being  done  in  a  manner  which  will  be 
agreeable  to  the  desires  of  Monsieur  le  Marquis," 
Cornelia  again  thought  how  pleasant  it  would  be 
to  be  addressed  as  "  Madame  la  Marquise,"  and 
have  the  coronet  and  arms  of  the  ancient  family 
painted  on  her  carriage  panels. 

The  elders  of  the  Cornwallis  family  proceeded  to 
look  into  matters  very  carefully  when  the  Marquis's 


Fishing  for  a   Title.  173 

demande  en  mariage  came.  They  knew  long  ago 
that  the  Marquis  was  no  impostor  so  far  as  his  birth 
and  lineage  were  concerned  ;  no  mushroom  aristo 
crat  with  a  family  born  overnight  in  some  success 
ful  roturiers  infamous  reign  ;  but  an  aristocrat  of 
the  old  roche,  a  true  noble  of  the  ancien  regime. 
That  his  fortune  might  be  small  they  thought  likely 
enough,  and  were  prepared  not  only  to  overlook 
that,  but  to  make  such  arrangement  of  Cornelia's 
fortune  as  would  be  satisfactory  to  her  high-born 
husband  and,  at  the  same  time,  just  to  his  beauti 
ful  wife.  But,  even  the  Cornwallis  family,  who 
could  scarcely  be  called  Americans  of  the  unsophis 
ticated  sort,  were  somewhat  astonished  to  find  that 
the  Marquis,  "  crible  de  dettes,"  required  the  entire 
liquidation  of  these  obligations  by  the  Cornwallis 
family — in  fact  he  had  promised  his  good  tradesmen 
that  they  should  be  paid  as  soon  as  he  was  mar 
ried,  and  this  was  the  reason  he  had  occasionally 
driven  the  Cornwallis  carriage  about  among  the 
business  portion  of  the  city.  A  bit  of  stage  effect 
like  this  is  very  telling  with  a  French  tradesman. 
Relying  on  his  word  and  the  evident  wealth  of  the 
family  with  which  he  had  linked  himself,  the  bons 
diables  had  entirely  ceased  to  annoy  him  for  money 
for  some  time  past ;  and  now  he  was  about  to  be 
married  they  must  be  paid.  The  Marquis  had 
promised  them  this.  A  Marquis  could  not  go  be 
hind  his  word.  Noblesse  oblige  ! 

This  matter  the  Cornwallis  elders  required  time 


174  Fishing  for  a  Title. 

to  think  over ;  and  ' '  apropos  de  bottes  !  "  the  Marquis 
said — for  the  first  time  infringing  on  the  purity  of 
his  utterance  by  a  little  pleasantry  of  expression — 
there  was  another  little  affair  they  might  as  well 
think  over  at  the  same  time.  Nothing  more  for 
midable,  so  please  you,  than  four  children — who 
bore  the  Marquis's  ancient  escutcheon  with  the 
unfortunate  addition  of  the  bar  sinister — for  whom 
and  for  their  mother,  a  washerwoman  at  Neuilly, 
some  suitable  provision  of  money  was  required  to 
be  made*! 

The  Americans  were  furious. 

"  This  is  an  insult  to  us,"  they  cried. 

"The  same  insult  was  offered  to  Queen  Vic 
toria,  who  accepted  it  for  the  sake  of  a  suitable 
match  for  her  daughter,"  said  the  Marquis,  coolly. 

The  Marquis  alluded  to  Prince  Christian,  a 
German  "Highness"  whose  "left-handed"  or 
morganatic  marriage  was  said  to  have  been  §et 
aside  and  his  children  provided  for  on  his  espous 
ing  a  daughter  of  the  Queen  of  England. 

So  distinguished  a  precedent  one  would  think 
might  have  had  some  effect  on  people,  who  despite 
their  wealth  and  the  name  of  which  they  were 
very  proud,  were  mere  Americans,  after  all.  But 
it  had  not.  The  Cornwallises  considered  them 
selves  insulted,  the  Marquis  disgraced,  and  from 
that  moment  the  whole  affair  was  "  off."  Corne 
lia  never  knew  exactly  what  the  point  of  disagree 
ment  was ;  but  when  the  decision  that  she  was  not 


A  Saucy   Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom,    175 

to  marry  him  was  finally  made,  she  drew  a  deep 
sigh  and  confessed  to  herself  that  even  to  be 
"  Cornelie,  Marquise  de ,"  would  have  re 
quired  sacrifices  which,  on  the  whole,  she  was 
glad  she  was  not  going  to  be  called  upon  to  make. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

A   SAUCY  TRIUMPH  AND   A   SORRY  DOOM. 

THAT  fishing  for  a  Marquis  had  been  three 
years  ago  ;  and  now  once  more  there  was  a  whis 
per  in  society  that  there  was  a  titled  suitor  for 
Cornelia's  hand — this  time  an  English  lord,  who 
had  been  traveling  during  the  winter  in  the 
States,  had  seen  the  Carnival  festivities  at  New 
Orleans,  the  Mardi  gras  and  its  Mystick  Krewe 
procession  and  ball,  had  intended  to  go  on  the 
plains  and  shoot  buffalo,  but  had  recoiled  from  the 
prospective  hardships  and  returned  to  the  cities 
and  watering-places  on  the  Atlantic  coast,  where 
the  girls  were  pullings  caps  for  him — in  which  de 
lectable  occupation  they  were  aided  by  designing 
mothers  and  ambitious  papas.  The  name  of  this 
admired  gentleman  was  Lord  de  Coram,  and  it 
was  generally  understood  that  he  was  to  be  pres 
ent  at  Cornelia's  birthday  party — her  soiree  in- 
time. 


176  A  Saucy   TriumpJi  and  a  Sorry  Doom. 

"  Do  you  know  you  are  looking  most  lovely  to 
night,  Cornelia?"  said  Fay,  admiringly,  as  the  girls 
stood  together,  near  the  door  where  Cornelia  was 
receiving  guests  as  they  arrived. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  asked  Miss  Cornwallis,  as  if  quite  sur 
prised.  "  I  told  the  dressmaker  to  send  me  home 
the  simplest  kind  of  toilet.  My  maid  wanted  me 
to  wear  diamonds  but  I  would  not." 

In  ordering  a  simple  toilet  for  this  occasion 
Cornelia  had  been  animated  by  that  admirable 
spirit  of  the  true  gentlewoman  which  leads  her  to 
dress  tinder  the  most  simply  appareled  of  her 
guests.  Nothing  is  more  trying  to  a  lady  than  to 
find  herself  in  an  assemblage  where — either  through 
a  misconception  of  its  character,  or  through  lack 
of  fortune — she  discovers  that  she  is  outdressed 
by  every  woman  present.  A  painful  sense  of 
being  "  shabby"  forces  itself  upon  her,  and  what 
a  relief  it  is  then  to  find  her  hostess  so  simply 
dressed  that  the  toilet  of  the  most  unobtrusively 
costumed  of  those  present  seems  quite  "dress" 
enough  ! 

Cornelia's  costume,  if  simple,  was  in  exquisite 
taste  and  very  becoming.  It  was  a  blue  silk,  cov 
ered  with  some  diaphanous  material  of  the  same 
shade,  looped  here  and  there  with  faint  pink  rose 
buds.  About  her  neck  and  arms  were  corals 
brought  by  herself  from  Naples,  an  exquisite 
choice,  the  color  being  no  deeper  than  that  rosy 
blush  seen  inside  a  sea  shell.  Her  gloves  of  the 


A  Saucy   Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom.    177 

same  delicate  rose  color  fitted  as  gloves  srrould — if 
there  is  any  aptness  in  the  simile  of  "  fitting  like  a 
glove."  Her  white  throat  was  bare,  but  her 
shoulders  were  not  exposed  ;  and,  all  in  all,  she 
was  a  lovely  picture  as  she  stood  at  the  door  of  the 
drawing-room  in  the  old  Philadelphia  mansion, 
welcoming  her  guests. 

They  came  slowly,  and  the  party  moved  heavily 
— why,  it  was  difficult  to  say.  One  young  man 
sat  on  an  ottoman  in  an  easy,  familiar  attitude, 
and  was  endeavoring  to  make  fun  and  not  succeed 
ing  very  well.  A  young  lady  was  escorted  to  the 
piano  and  began  to  play  one  of  Mendelssohn's 
songs  without  words.  Suddenly  her  memory 
failed  her  and  she  broke  down.  In  a  confused 
way  she  left  the  piano  and  nothing  could  induce 
her  to  return. 

All  this  was  very  trying  to  Cornelia.  She 
wished  now  that  she  had  engaged  some  profes 
sional"  musicians  ;  the  excellent  band  she  always 
caused  to  come  when  she  gave  dancing  parties, 
during  which  the  musicians  sat  in  the  gallery  in 
the  dining-room  and  played  waltzes  and  quadrilles 
in  the  nicest  way.  But  this  was  not  a  dancing 
party  at  all ;  it  was  but  a  soiree  intime,  and  Cor 
nelia,  was  vexed  enough  that  her  guests  would  not 
be  intimate — as  Pony  afterwards  expressed  it — 
"  worth  a  cent." 

In  spite  of  this  drawback,  the  party  had  many 
agreeable  features. 
8* 


178   A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom. 

"  A  somewhat  different  gathering  from  those  at 
the  hops  at  Long  Branch,"  said  Mrs.  Underhill  to 
her  husband  ;  and  "yes,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Under 
hill  to  his  wife,  eyeing  the  distinguished  groups  of 
young  and  old  people  who  were  moving  quietly 
about,  or  as  quietly  sitting. 

One  cause  of  the  dullness  was  the  quiet  bearing 
of  those  present ;  the  young  people  were  seated 
together  in  groups,  but  seemed  to  have  little  to 
say ;  they  were  people  who  constantly  saw  each 
other,  and  there  was  really  not  much  to  talk  about 
that  was  new  or  startling.  Some  middle-aged 
.people  moved  through  the  picture-gallery  and  ex 
amined  some  well-known  masterpiece  attentively, 
although  they  had  seen  it  numberless  times  before. 
Two  powdered  dames — powdered  by  nature  with 
her  puff  of  years — sat  at  a  marqueterie  table,  and 
played  whist  writh  two  dignified  old  gentlemen, 
who  wore  stocks  instead  of  modern  neck-ties,  fob- 
ribbons  for  watch-chains,  and  approved  of  a  mon 
archical  form  of  government ;  a  style  of  human  fos 
sil  to  be  met  with  nowhere  in  this  country,  but  in 
Philadelphia. 

"  I  shall  give  a  hint  for  refreshments  to  be  brought 
in,"  said  Cornelia  to  Fay,  "  although  it's  an  hour 
before  I  ordered  them.  Perhaps  that  will  make 
the  people  more  lively." 

"Although  they're  quiet,"  said  Fay,  "it's  a 
beautiful  party.  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  so  select 
a  one,  even  at  your  house,  Cornelia.  Every  per- 


A  Saucy   Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom.    179 

son  here  is  somebody ,"  concluded  Fay,  using  an 
understandable  phrase. 

"  Oh  yes,"  assented  Cornelia,  quickly,  "  if  there 
were  any  vulgarity  here,  I  should  die." 

Meantime  at  that  very  moment,  vulgarity — or 
what  Cornelia  considered  such — was  laying  aside 
its  wrappings,  prior  to  making  its  entrance  into  that 
gorgeous  drawing-room,  and  ushering  itself,  an  un 
invited  guest,  into  the  presence  of  the  fastidious 
Cornelia.  In  other  words,  Pony  Parsons  with  a 
heart  beating  hard  against  her  breast — for  this  was 
really  the  most  audacious  of  her  many  escapades — 
had  arrived,  accompanied  by  her  parents,  and  by 
the  German  pork  packer,  who  was  wholly  innocent, 
poor  man,  of  any  knowledge  of  the  true  set  of  cir 
cumstances  which  had  brought  him  to  these  bril 
liantly  illuminated  halls,  whose  chef  d'ceuvres  of  art 
he  admiringly  though  hastily  scanned. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Parsons  walked  into  the  drawing- 
room — their  daughter  as  they  thought  close  be 
hind  them.  But  Pony  lingered  outside,  pretending 
to  be  wrestling,  as  she  told  Hermann,  with  a  "  re 
fractory  glove." 

"  Cornelia  is  so  stiff,"  she  said  to  her  friend, 
"  that  she'd  make  it  a  dire  offense  if  you  went  into 
her  presence  with  any  of  your  gear  out  of  kilter." 

At  length  the  refractory  glove  was  curbed  into 
submission,  and  Pony  entered  the  drawing-room  a 
step  in  advance  of  Hermann.  The  excitement  of 
the  situation  was  written  in  her  dilated  eye  and 


I  So    A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom. 

nostril,  and  on  her  burning  cheek  ;  but  her  step 
was  steady,  and  her  head  thrown  back,  precisely 
the  same  as  it  was  on  those  occasions  when  she 
had  in  her  hands  the  reins  of  some  horse  she  did  not 
know,  but  suspected  of  a  disposition  to  run  away. 

She  had  relied  somewhat  on  her  power  of  "  read 
ing"  people,  to  judge  beforehand  how  Cornelia 
would  act,  what  she  would  say  and  do,  when  her 
astonished  eyes  fell  on  Hermann  Kalbfleisch  ;  but 
Cornelia  at  the  moment  was  standing  with  her  back 
to  the  door,  talking  to  a  gentleman  of  middle  age 
and  distinguished  appearance,  and  whom  Pony 
recognized  as  the  head  of  a  high  family,  Philadel 
phia's  very  cream  of  cream.  So  Pony  could  not 
read  her.  Backs  are  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to 
read.  But,  something  in  the  way  a  stray  curl  hung 
over  her  left  shoulder  told  the  unfortunate  Pony 
that  when  Cornelia  saw  them,  she  would  give  them 
both  the  cut  direct,  if  not  actually  order  the  ser 
vant  to  show  them  the  door. 

At  that  moment  Cornelia  saw  them.  Pony's 
heart  stood  still. 

With  a  face  upon  which  not  the  slightest  sign  of 
surprise  was  written,  Cornelia  smiled  a  smile  of 
dignity  worthy  of  a  queen  receiving  a  king  at  the 
head  of  her  royal  staircase  ;  then  sinking  into  a 
curtsey  of  swanlike  grace,  she  said  in  admirable 
German,  "You  are  welcome,  Hcrr  Kalbfleisch! 
Pray  make  yourself  at  home  in  the  house  you  hon 
or  by  your  presence." 


A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom.     181 

Pony  breathed  hard.  "Worthy  of  old.  Vet  e  de 
Vere  herself,"  she  muttered,  thoroughly  relieved. 

Of  course,  of  Pony's  doubts  and  fears  Hermann 
knew  nothing ;  he  had  thought  little  enough  be 
forehand  about  coming  to  the  party,  except  that  it 
was  an  excuse  to  stay  longer  in  Pony's  company  ; 
but,  when  his  foot  crossed  the  threshold  and  he 
saw  the  high-toned  character  of  the  household,  the 
well-trained  servants,  the  profuseness  and  beauty 
of  the  costly  works  of  art  scattered  on  every  side, 
then  he  remembered  Cornelia's  stately  bearing  at 
the  watering-place,  and  the  fact  that  neither  per 
sonally  nor  by  letter  had  she  invited  him  to  this 
party,  made  him  feel  not  altogether  as  comfortable 
as  he  could  have  wished. 

He  was  delighted  by  her  reception  of  him.  The 
bright  pink  of  his  whole  face  deepened  with  the 
pleasurable  emotion  he  experienced  at  her  enchant 
ing  greeting,  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes  his 
genial  spirit  had  made  itself  felt  by  every  person 
present.  As  a  ray  of  sunlight  floods  every  cranny 
of  a  room,  dark  and  musty  before,  so  Kalbfleisch's 
amiability  won  its  way  to  all  hearts,  and  made  the 
soiree  one  of  charming  intimacy  as  Cornelia  had 
intended.  It  had  been  a  conversazione  where 
nobody  would  converse  ;  immediately  after  Her 
mann's  arrival,  everybody  fell  to  chatting  and 
laughing  in  the  most  delightful  way.  The  young 
man  sitting  in  the  careless  attitude  on  the  ottoman, 
who  had  hitherto  looked  terribly  ennuye,  rose  and 


1 82    A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom. 

shook  hands  with  Kalbfleisch  as  he  was  introduced, 
and  sank  back  again  on  the  ottoman  with  a  face 
whose  expression  was  much  more  animated  than 
before.  Of  course  it  was  not  long  before  Her 
mann  was  at  the  piano  ;  whether  he  was  invited  to 
play  or  whether  he  rushed  there  of  his  own  accord 
as  the  needle  flies  to  the  pole,  no  one  noticed  ;  but 
soon  such  harmonies  were  rising  in  those  noble 
rooms' as  that  Steinway  Grand  had  never  before 
emitted,  you  may  be  sure.  Cornelia  was  delighted. 
Her  party  was  a  complete  success ;  it  had  been 
a  soiree  intime,  a  conversazione — now  it  was  a 
musicale,  and  of  the  best  sort,  too.  No  wonder 
she  was  pleased. 

"  It's  Rubenstein  disguised  as  a  good-looking 
fellow,"  said  a  traveled  young  man  who  played  a 
little  himself,  but  who  would  not  have  touched  the 
piano  now  for  a  fortune. 

Then  Hermann  began  to  sing.  His  sweet,  bell- 
like  voice,  favored  by  the  lofty  rooms  and  the  ex 
cellent  tone  of  the  piano,  sounded  stronger  and 
clearer  than  the  girls  had  ever  heard  it  at  the 
Branch,  where  the  wiry  piano  and  the  low  ceilinged 
great  parlor,  all  doors  and  windows,  were  trying 
adjuncts.  But  here  all  was  auspicious.  The 
piano  was  literally  surrounded  by  admirers  who 
applauded  vociferously  and  clapped  their  hands 
and  cried  "  bravo  !  "  as  one  after  another  of  Her 
mann's  her  sen  were  broken,  or  his  hopes  ran  high 
and  taking  B  flat  splendidly  from  the  chest,  he  con- 


A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom.     183 

eluded  now  a  plaintive  love  wail,  now  a  joyous 
hymn  with  German  rhyme  felicitously  wedded  to 
German  melodies  ;  not  a  sugary  jingle,  but  noble 
numbers,  difficult  to  execute,  but  simple  in  the 
hearing.  The  distinguished  gentleman  to  whom 
Cornelia  had  been  talking  as  they  entered  seemed 
like  a  man  fascinated  by  a  magic  spell.  He  sat  at 
Hermann's  side  entranced,  and  after  each  song 
was  concluded,  asked  for  another  ;  apologizing  for 
being  so  voracious,  but  asking  none  the  less  vora 
ciously. 

"Jove  !  "  cried  a  young  man  in  Pony's  hearing, 
"he's  Mario — when  Mario  had  a  voice." 

"  But  who  is  he  really  ?  Does  any  one  know?  " 
asked  a  lady. 

"  I  do,"  said  Pony.  "  He's  a  baron  and  packs 
pork  in  Chicago." 

Hermann  had  begun  to  sing  again,  and  no  one 
listened  to  the  absurd  girl. 

This  evening  was  one  of  unalloyed  triumph  to 
Pony.  From  an  anxiety  more  painful  and  harrow 
ing  than  any  she  had  ever  before  felt,  she  had 
passed  to  a  state  of  exultation  all  the  greater  from 
the  miserable  depression  which  had  preceded  it. 
Hermann  sitting  at  the  piano,  enchanting  every 
body  by  his  Orpheus-like  strains,  was  as  unaffected 
and  unconscious  of  power  as  a  child  ;  while  Pony 
whisked  about  the  rooms,  the  very  spirit  of  sport 
and  saucy  grace. 

"  Cornelia,"    she    said,    as    she    stood   leaning 


1 84    A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom. 

against  the  piano  as  if  it  belonged  to  her,  while 
Hermann  and  the  rest  of  the  company  were  eating 
delicious  ices,  moulded  into  fruit-like  shapes,  and 
served  on  dainty  bits  of  porcelain  imitating  grape- 
leaves,  "  where's  your  lord?  Your  lord  didn't 
come,  did  he?" 

"Hush!"  said  Cornelia,  reprovingly.  "There 
he  is,  sitting  opposite  us,  on  that  stool." 

"What!"  cried  Pony.  "You  don't  mean  to 
say  it's  that  chap  !  I've  been  looking  at  him  all 
the  evening.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  that 
youth's  a  lord — who  comes  into  a  lady's  drawing- 
room,  takes  a  stool  and  sits  on  his  leg  !  " 

This  was  the  very  degqgJ  attitude  Lord  de  Coram 
had  taken  and  retained  almost  the  whole  evening. 
Cornelia  had  observed  it,  and  had  not  liked  it ; 
but,  how  was  it  possible  to  indicate  even  faintly 
her  displeasure  at  such  an  unmentionable  thing  ! 

"  I  didn't  think  a  lord  would  sit  on  his  leg.  I 
thought  a  lord  always  stood  on  his  dig,"  said  Pony. 

"Do  be  quiet,  Pony!"  cried  Cornelia,  almost 
imploringly. 

"  Oh,  I  won't  say  anything  to  him  about  it  if 
you  don't  want  me  to,"  answered  Pony,  with  de 
lightful  condescension;  "after  all,  a  lord's  legs 
are  his  own,  I  suppose,  and  he  can  do  what  he 
likes  with  them,  especially  in  a  free  country.  But 
what  I  look  at  is  that  you  should  always  be  teasing 
me  about  'bad  form,'  and  '  low  tone,'  and  all  the 
rest  of  it,  when  here's  a  live  lord  with  a  pedigree 


A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom.     185 

as  big  as  a  bed-quilt,  who  comes  and  brings  his 
leg  to  your  soiree  intime  for  the  sole  purpose,  it 
would  seem,  of  sitting  on  it." 

Moving  away  from  Pony,  thus  effectually  stop 
ping  her  remarks,  Cornelia  approached  Fay 
Underhill,  who  had  sat  on  a  sofa  next  her  mother 
almost  without  stirring  the  whole  evening. 

"  Why,  Fay,  dear,"  said  Cornelia,  taking  her 
hand,  "  how  dull  and  moped  you  look!  What's 
the  matter  ?  You're  not  enjoying  yourself!  " 

No  indeed  ;  poor  Fay  was  not ;  but  that  was 
not  Cornelia's  fault,  nor  the  fault  of  her  party, 
which  was  growing  more  and  more  pleasant  all  the 
time.  But  Fay  was  sad  ;  in  any  case  she  would 
have  been  sad,  being  away  from  Stuart.  She 
could  enter  into  no  enjoyment  he  did  not  share. 
But  the  cause  of  her  sadness  was  deeper  than  this; 
she  was  unhappy  because  she  was  beginning  to 
fear  Stuart  did  not  love  her  as  he  once  did.  Else 
why  these  sudden  and  mysterious  absences  at 
Long  Branch  for  hours  and  hours  at  a  time  ? — 
absences  which  he  never  explained,  never  alluded 
to  again.  Then  his  manner,  formerly  so  warm,  so 
loving — now  it  was  frequently  distrait,  sometimes 
so  much  so  that  he  actually  failed  to  answer  her 
when  she  spoke  to  him.  She  had  come  off  to 
Philadelphia  without  saying  good-by  to  him,  but 
leaving  a  note  to  tell  him  where  she  was  going  ; 
and  he  had  not  even  answered  it.  She  had  not 
asked  him  to  do  so,  but  in  other  days  he  would 


1 86    A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom. 

have  done  more  than  answer  her  note — he  would 
have  taken  the  next  train  to  Philadelphia,  and  been 
with  her  now  at  Cornelia's  party.  See  how  happy 
Pony  was  because  the  young  German  who  liked 
her  was  present !  How  much  more  did  Fay  re 
quire  the  presence  of  her  dear  lover  whom  she  had 
known  and  loved  for  years  ! 

"  I  am  not  feeling  well,  Cornelia,"  said  Fay,  lan 
guidly.  "  I  think  we  must  be  going  soon.  I'd 
like  a  glass  of  ice-water,  dear,  if  there's  any  about." 

"  I'll  find  a  servant  and  send  you  some,"  said 
Cornelia,  rising. 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Fay,  rising  also.  "  It 
won't  hurt  me  to  stir  about  a  little.  I've  been  sit 
ting  on  this  sofa  the  whole  evening." 

They  walked  back  into  the  dining-room.  A 
table  plenteously  supplied  with  every  luxury  ap 
propriate  to  the  occasion  that  a  French  chef  de  cui 
sine  could  think  of,  was  standing  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  and  servants  were  waiting  upon  a  party 
of  gentlemen,  of  whom  Lord  de  Coram  was  one. 

As  Cornelia  and  Fay  entered,  the  gentlemen 
bowed.  A  servant  gave  Fay  a  glass  of  ice-water, 
and  after  she  had  sipped  it  the  girls  walked  to 
wards  the  conservatory. 

"  Engaged  to  Stuart  Phelps,"  Fay  heard  some 
one  say  as  she  and  Cornelia  walked  behind  the 
blooming  shrubbery,  hidden  from  sight. 

Then  Lord  de  Coram's  voice  was  heard. 
"  Stuart  Phelps  !  What  !  not  that  man  we  saw  at 


A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom.     1 87 

Long  Branch  kissing  the  California  widow  in  the 
dark  hall  at  midnight  ?  " 

Fay  grasped  Cornelia's  hand  and  held  her  breath. 
Then  she  hurried  back  into  the  dining-hall,  in  a 
gait  faster  than  walking,  dragging  with  her  Corne 
lia,  who  vainly  entreated  her  to  come  away. 

Fay  Underhill's  brow  and  cheek  were  whiter 
than  Cornelia's  unvarying  complexion  when  she 
faced  the  young  nobleman. 

"  Lord  de  Coram,"  said  the  poor  girl  in  a  choked 
voice;  "I  overheard  your  last  remark.  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  saw  the  gentleman  to  whom 
I  am  engaged  kissing  the  California  widow — by 
whom  I  suppose  you  mean  Mrs.  Duncan — at  Long 
Branch  at  midnight  ?  " 

Lord  de  Coram  was  silent  for  an  instant.  Cor 
nelia  wondered  what  the  youth  who  had  passed  the 
evening  sitting  on  his  leg  would  do.  Throwing 
back  a  stray  lock  off  his  forehead,  he  looked  straight 
in  the  eyes  of  the  agonized  girl  before  him,  and 
said  in  a  manly  voice  : 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  give  you  pain  ;  I 
shouldn't  have  thought  of  saying  what  I  did  if  I 
had  fancied  you  were  going  to  overhear  me — just 
because  I  should  not  have  given  you  the  pain,  you 
know  ;  for  no  other  reason.  I  certainly  did  see 
what  I  said,  and  am  prepared  to  take  the  conse 
quences  of  the  statement  if  you  wish  to  use  my 
name  in  connection  with  it." 

"  And  I  must  back  Lord  de  Coram  in  this,"  said 


1 88    A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom. 

the  middle-aged  Philadelphia!!  who  has  been  men 
tioned.  "  I  saw  the  same  thing  he  speaks  of. 
We  were  down  for  the  day  at  Long  Branch,  and 
saw  the  incident  when  we  were  going  to  our  rooms 
at  night." 

Cornelia  took  Fay  into  her  own  room,  and  held 
the  poor  girl's  hot  head  on  her  breast  while  the 
blinding  rain  of  tears  was  falling.  When,  after  a 
half  an  hour,  she  came  downstairs,  neither  her 
mother  nor  her  father  noticed  that  there  was  any 
thing  amiss  with  their  petted  Fay  ;  and  if  at  the 
hotel  they  wondered  why  she  kept  her  gas  burning 
so  late  in  the  room  adjoining  theirs,  which  she  oc 
cupied,  they  did  not  know  it  was  because  she  was 
engaged  in  composing  this  letter  to  Stuart : 

"When  you  receive  this  note  you  will  under 
stand  that  I  know  all.  You  have  deceived  me, 
and  I  shall  never  trust  you  again.  Everything 
is  at  an  end  between  us.  From  this  time  forth  you 
will  please  understand  that  we  are  nothing  to  each 
other — not  even  acquaintances.  I  wish  to  have  no 
explanations  with  you.  Explanations  are  out  of 
the  question.  If  you  call  at  our  house  the  servant 
will  have  instructions  not  to  admit  you.  If  you 
write,  your  letters  will  be  returned  unopened. 

"FAY  UNDERBILL." 

This  impetuous  document  Stuart  received  the 
next  morning  at  his  place  of  business  in  New  York  ; 
and  with  a  bitter  sigh  he  laid  it  beside  this  other, 


A  Saucy  Triumph  and  a  Sorry  Doom.     189 

received  from  the  same  postman  and  equally  im 
petuous  : 

"  Oh,  Stuart !  Why  did  you  treat  me  so  cruelly 
in  presence  of  those  strangers  ?  What  crime  have 
I  committed  in  loving  you  so  devotedly  that  even 
womanly  pride  is  forgotten  in  the  longing  to  be 
forgiven  ?  I  struggled  against  the  passion  which  I 
considered  hopeless — for  I  believed  you  loved 
another.  But  you  have  told  me  with  your  own 
dear  lips  that  you  love  me.  Do  you  repent  hav 
ing  given  me  this  joy  ?  If  you  do,  I  will  give  you 
back  your  promise,  and  never  speak  of  love  again  ; 
but  oh  Stuart,  do  not  be  cruel  to  me.  Be  at  least 
my  friend,  for  Heaven  knows  I  need  a  friend, 
lonely  and  unhappy  woman  that  I  am  ! 

"  After  you  had  gone,  Long  Branch  was  a  des 
ert  to  me.  I  came  at  once  to  town  ;  and  am  now 
staying  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  where  I  shall 
always  be  at  home  to  you  whenever  you  will  come. 
But  whether  you  come  or  not — yes,  even  though 
you  doom  me  to  despair — I  shall  never  forget  the 
man  who  let  in  one  sweet  ray  of  sunshine  on  my 
unhappy  life. 

"  Yours,  until  death, 

"  DIANA  DUNCAN." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HIGH  LIFE  IN  THE  SHOPS. 

TOWARD  the  end  of  September,  Cornelia  Corn- 
wallis  accepted  an  invitation  to  visit  her  friend  Fay 
in  New  York.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Underhill  had  as 
yet  no  knowledge  of  the  new  condition  of  affairs 
between  their  daughter  and  Stuart  Phelps.  They 
had  observed  that  but  little  had  been  seen  of  Stu 
art  since  Long  Branch ;  but  both  these  elderly 
people  had  been  engrossed  in  their  own  duties 
since  their  return  from  Philadelphia,  and  they  sup 
posed,  if  they  thought  about  it  at  all,  that  he  had 
written  to  Fay — perhaps  called  at  the  house  and 
she  had  seen  him.  Their  daughter  was  engaged 
to  this  young  man,  whom  they  knew  well  and 
honored  ;  the  affianced  couple  had  perfect  liberty, 
as  have  all  American  young  people  who  are  en 
gaged — and  some  who  are  not — but  they  had  no 
ticed  that  Fay  seemed  rather  dull,  since  returning 
from  the  gayeties  at  the  Branch,  and  the  subse 
quent  gayeties  in  Philadelphia ;  and  so  they  had 
joined  with  Fay  in  urging  Cornelia  to  come  and 
spend  a  few  weeks  in  noisy  Gotham.  Cornelia 
wanted  to  see  her  milliners,  and  dressmakers, 


High  Life  in  the  Shops.  191 

bootmakers,  and  other  fournisseurs.  She  gradu 
ated  the  importance  of  these  people  by  a  sliding 
scale  of  her  own  :  first,  those  in  Paris,  whom  she 
saw  but  seldom,  but  esteemed  the  most  highly ; 
second,  those  of  New  York,  who  had  the  next 
highest  place  in  her  esteem  ;  and  finally,  those  in 
Philadelphia,  whom  she  esteemed  but  lightly. 

The  house  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Underhill  was  neither 
outside  so  imposing,  nor  inside  so  commodious  as 
the  Cormvallis  mansion  in  Philadelphia.  It  was 
merely  what  a  house-agent  would  describe  as  a 
four-story,  high-stoop,  brown-stone,  twenty-two- 
and-a-half-foot-front  house  on  Madison  Square  ; 
but  put  in  the  market  on  a  rainy  day  and  at  a  dull 
moment,  would  fetch  more  money  than  the  Phila 
delphia  mansion  sold  under  the  best  auspices,  in 
the  best  season,  to  the  best  purchaser.  The  house 
was  not  only  comfortably  but  richly  furnished,  but 
there  was  no  picture-gallery,  and  indeed,  no  works 
of  art  at  all,  except  a  few  unpretentious  bronzes 
which  ornamented  tables  and  consoles.  Mr.  Un 
derhill  had  never  been  abroad,  and  candidly  con 
fessed  that  he  was  no  connoisseur  in  works  of  art. 
This  being  the  case,  he  said  he  preferred  not  to 
buy  these  things  here,  pay  an  outrageous  price  for 
them,  and  perhaps  be  cheated  at  last ;  but  one  of 
these  fine  days  he  intended  to  go  to  Europe,  get 
some  friend  who  understood  these  things  to  go 
about  with  him  and  spend  a  few  loose  thousands 
for  him  among  the  artists  of  to-day — for  the  old 


1 92  High  Life  in  the  Shops. 

masters  he  abhorred  and  was  honest  enough  to  ao 
knowledge  it. 

In  spite  of  the  lack  of  works  of  art  the  house  was 
very  agreeable.  Fay  had  a  couple  of  rooms  all  to 
herself  on  the  second  story— one  hung  prettily  in 
pink  chintz,  the  other  of  no  particular  color,  but 
handsomer  perhaps  on  that  account.  Here  was  a 
chair  worked  in  worsteds  by  Fay  herself  and 
mounted  richly  in  green  velvet ;  there  was  a  patch 
work  stool  whose  prevailing  tint  was  a  warm 
crimson,  and  which  had  been  fashioned  by  the  dex 
terous  fingers  of  some  good  kind  old  aunt  in  the 
country  ;  a  tiny  table  had  a  light-blue  cloth  with 
Pompadour  designs  thrown  over  it ;  there  were 
books,  photographs,  choice  engravings,  a  bright 
chromo,  a  tiny  verd  antique  clock,  a  jardiniere 
full  of  blooming  plants  in  the  window.  The  girls 
managed  to  pass  the  time  very  agreeably  here. 

"  It's  so  pleasant  to  look  out  of  your  windows," 
said  Cornelia. 

"  Yes,  I  often  sit  at  the  window  for  hours  look 
ing  on  the  square,"  said  Fay. 

The  same  square  upon  which  Mrs.  Duncan 
looked  from  her  windows  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel  !  With  an  opera-glass  these  two  women, 
who  both  loved  the  same  man,  might  have  seen 
each  other. 

The  morning  after  Cornelia's  arrival,  a  carriage, 
the  elegance  of  whose  appointments  struck  every 
passer-by,  stood  before  the  Underhill  house  wait- 


High  Life  in  tlie  Shops.  193 

ing  for  the  ladies.  It  was  an  English  landau, 
that  most  convenient  of  vehicles,  lined  with  dark- 
green  cloth,  the  liveries  of  driver  and  footman 
being  of  the  same  color.  It  bore  the  Underhill 
monogram  on  the  door-panels  and  on  the  gilt 
harness  of  the  sleek-coated  horses  ;  and  the  young 
ladies  went  down  to  it  in  the  most  bewitching  of 
hats,  the  jauntiest  of  jackets,  the  daintiest  of 
gloves. 

"Mamma,"  cried  Fay,  at  the  parlor-door, 
"  Come,  aren't  you  going  ?  " 

"  No,  dears,  I  can't  go  this  morning.  I  am 
busy.  You  can  go  without  me,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course — only  we'd  rather  you  were  along." 

"I'd  like  to  go,"  said  Mrs.  Underhill,  "  but  it 
is  impossible  this  morning.  Take  good  care  of 
yourselves." 

Jo,  the  dapper  little  footman,  stood  with  the  car 
riage  door  in  his  hand,  waiting  patiently.  Jo  was 
a  slim,  black-eyed  little  fellow,  straight  as  a  ram 
rod,  who  had  been  a  jockey  in  his  youth  ;  how 
old  he  was,  no  one  knew  ;  his  hair  was  sparse,  he 
had  tiny  side-whiskers,  fine  teeth  and  a  big  mouth 
with  which  he  was  always  grinning.  The  Under- 
hills  called  him  privately  Sam  Weller. 

The  young  ladies  sank  back  into  the  deep, 
luxurious  cushions,  and  Jo  touched  his  hat  and 
asked  "  Where  to,  if  you  please,  ladies  ?  " 

"Where  shall  we  go  first,  Cornelia?"  asked 
Fay. 

9 


194  High  Life  in  the  Shops. 

"Why,  let's  go  to  Dortch's  first;  they  say  her 
new  hats  are  lovely.  I  must  have  a  new  hat  at 
once — this  is  a  fright." 

No  one  would  have  suspected  it  to  look  at  it ; 
but  as  Cornelia  Cornwallis  said  so,  of  course  it 
must  be  so.  Fay  gave  Jo  the  milliner's  number 
in  Broadway  and  off  they  drove. 

The  weather  was  superb.  The  sun  shone  with 
sufficient  warmth  to  render  all  cumbersome  wrap 
pings  unnecessary,  and  yet  not  enough  to  cause 
one  a  single  reminder  of  the  fatal  work  he  had 
been  doing  all  through  the  summer  months.  The 
streets  were  teeming  with  people,  and. alive  with 
an  almost  boisterous  gayety,  engendered  by  the 
beauteous  weather,  by  the  crowd,  by  the  gay  look 
of  the  shops ;  cabs  were  in  demand,  private  car 
riages  stood  three  deep  and  stretched  far  out  into 
by-streets  near  favorite  stores  ;  a  half  dozen  or 
more  vehicles  were  in  front  of  Dortch's,  a  quiet 
place,  in  fact  nothing  more  than  some  rooms  on 
the  first  floor  over  a  confectioner's. 

Jo  hopped  down  and  rang  Dortch's  bell  ;  a  neat 
girl  opened  the  door  ;  and  the  young  ladies  went 
upstairs.  Dortch's  rooms  were  crowded.  Twenty 
people  were  quite  enough  to  crowd  Dortch's 
rooms,  two  small  parlors,  with  shallow  glass  cases 
built  against  the  walls,  whose  doors  were  lined 
with  violet  silk,  and  in  whose  recesses  marvels  of 
millinery  were  known  to  be  hidden.  Smaller 
glass  cases  stood  in  front  of  these,  dainty  enough 


High  Life  in  the  Shops.  195 

for  a  jeweler  to  keep  his  richest  gems  in ;  and 
herein  were  to  be  seen  most  ravishing  adjuncts  of 
the  milliner's  art — gorgeous  crests  of  birds  trapped 
in  East  Indian  jungles  and  South  American  wilds  ; 
rose-buds  from  Parisian  ateliers  with  which  the 
living  flowers  need  not  have  blushed  to  claim 
sisterhood  ;  laces  sent  by  Brussels  manufacturers 
and  made  by  poor  souls  who  have  lace-making  for 
youth,  blindness  for  middle  age,  as  their  inevitable 
portion  ;  and  a  handful  of  gold  coin  flung  care 
lessly  in  one  corner  among  these  dainties,  some 
sovereigns  and  napoleons  Miss  Dortch  had  left  over 
when  she  returned  from  Europe  a  day  or  two  ago. 

Miss  Dortch  is  a  tall,  heavily-built  English 
woman,  past  middle-age,  whose  manners,  though 
lacking  that  suavity  your  French  tradeswoman  has 
in  such  perfection,  nevertheless  are  pleasing  and 
deferential  to  those  of  her  customers  whom  she 
knows  to  be  rich — and  none  but  rich  people  can 
long  remain  customers  of  Dortch  ;  but  her  strong 
point — and  very  proud  of  it  she  is — is  the  trait 
which  Daniel  Webster  had  in  such  perfection  ;  she 
never  forgets  a  face,  always  remembers  names, 
and  "bears  a  brain"  in  relation  to  who  married 
who,  what  offspring  they  had,  and  much  similar 
detail. 

When  our  young  ladies  enter,  Miss  Dortch 
is  expatiating  on  the  beauties  of  a  hat  to  a 
brace  of  purchasers,  one  of  whom  is  a  gentleman. 
He  is  very  young,  wears  a  glass  in  one  eye,  hold- 


196  High  Life  in  the  Shops. 

ing  it  there  by  the  most  painful  facial  contortions ; 
and  between  doing  this,  and  taking  care  of  a  heavy 
cane,  and  occasionally  plucking  at  a  few  straw- 
colored  hairs  which  are  pasted  together  at  their 
ends  and  \vhich  he  calls  his  moustache,  he  is  pretty 
fully  employed  ;  not  so  much  so,  however,  as  to 
prevent  his  taking  an  active  interest  in  the  pur 
chase — or  the  rejection — of  this  hat.  His  young 
wife — a  creature  as  insipid,  as  colorless  as  himself, 
but  like  himself  dressed  in  faultless  taste,  (strange 
how  well  some  people  dress  themselves,  who  can't 
do  anything  else  on  earth  well  !)  likes  the  hat  very 
well,  except  that  there  is  something  wrong  with 
the  "feathaw!" 

"  Why,  /  assure  you,  Mrs.  De  Jones,"  says 
Dortch  in  her  rich,  mellow,  English  tone,  "that 
that  feather  is  the  most  gorgeous  thing  ever  seen 
in  New  York.  It's  shick,  as  the  French  say — 
very  shick.  There's  not  another  like  it  in  this 
city.  People  of  the  tonn  will  know  that's  one  of 
my  hats  by  the  feather.  They'll  say  '  that's  one  of 
Dortch's  hats — I  know  by  that  feather.'  $40  is 
dirt  cheap  for  that  hat — the  feather  cost  $35.  The 
Princess  Louisa  is  wearing  a  feather  like  that  this 
season.  I  saw  her  myself.  Mrs.  De  Jones,  I 
think  your  dear  mamma,  Mrs.  Shalo,  will  be  very 
much  pleased  at  your  buying  that  hat — on  account 
of  the  feather." 

"Well,  b-but,  Miss  D-Dortch,  don't  you  th- 
think  " — put  in  the  husband.  Heavens,  he  stut- 


High  Life  in  the  Shops.  197 

ters  !  To  be  obliged  to  carry  around  that  eye-glass 
and  that  moustache,  to  be  loaded  with  the  heavy 
cane,  and  to  stutter  ! — it  is  too  much  even  for  the 
polite  Dortch,  and  she  is  glad  to  leave  them  alone 
a  while  to  discuss  the  merits  of  the  feather,  while 
she  advances  to  greet  Cornelia  and  Fay. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Cornwallis,  good  morning.  I 
am  delighted  to  see  you  (Miss  Underbill,  you're 
looking  like  a  rose),"  the  great  Dortch  shakes 
hands  with  them  ;  "  Miss  Cornwallis,  how  is  your 
dear  aunt,  Miss  Cornelia?  I  met  Lady  Meadow- 
lane  in  Piccadilly,  just  before  I  left  London,  and 
her  ladyship  says  to  me  'Miss  Dortch,'  says  she 
'  can  you  tell  me  how  is  my  dear  friend  Miss  Cor- 
nelia  Cornwallis  of  /V«7adelphia  ? ' ' 

"  Aunt  Corny's  pretty  well,  thank  you,"  says 
Cornelia,  good-naturedly  ;  "  we're  come  to  look  at 
your  hats,  Miss  Dortch." 

"  Such  beauties  !  "  says  Miss  Dortch,  giving  the 
first  syllable  of  the  latter  word  a  queer  twang,  com 
mon  among  vulgar  English  people,  which  makes 
it  sound  almost  as  if  written  be<?wties.  "  You 
never  saw  the  like,  I'm  sure." 

"Oh  Miss  Dortch,"  protested  Fay,  "when 
we've  been  seeing  all  your  hats  for  the  past  six 
years  !  " 

"  Lo-o-ok  at  her  in  that  one  !  "  screams  Dortch 
in  admiration,  as  an  attendant  slips  a  hat  upon 
Cornelia's  Grecian  head.  "  Doesn't  she  look  like  a 
marble  statue  ?  " 


198  High  Life  in  the  Shops. 

"  A  marble  statue  with  a  round  hat  on  !  "  says 
Fay,  and  Cornelia  smiles. 

"I  sold  one  like  that  this  morning,"  chatters 
Dortch,  "  bec>wtiful  lady — said  she  didn't  find  my 
hats  dear  at  all,"  a  suppressed  murmur  of  astonish 
ment  at  the  imbecility  of  the  lady  who  didn't  find 
Dortch's  hats  dear  at  all  fills  the  room  from  end  to 
end;  "  What  was  her  name  now?  Stops  at  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel — oh  yes,  Mrs.  Duncan — Mrs. 
Diana  Duncan." 

Fay  bites  her  lip  and  looks  out  of  the  window. 

"Take  this  hat  off,"  says  Cornelia,  "I  don't 
like  it." 

In  one  or  two  more  tryings  she  is  suited.  She 
is  so  handsome  that  anything  looks  well  on  her. 
So  presently  she  and  Fay  take  leave,  Dortch  crying 
after  them  to  be  sure  and  remember  her  to  their 
dear  mammas  and  papas,  brothers,  sisters,  cousins, 
aunts,  uncles  and  so  forth,  and  if  they  desire  to 
send  any  word  to  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  Eng 
land  to  be  sure  and  give  her  the  message  as  she  is 
going  over  again  in  a  couple  of  months  and  will 
be  quite  likely  to  see  the  Royal  family  among 
others. 

When  they  returned  to  the  carriage  Cornelia 
said  to  Fay:  "  So  it  appears  Mrs.  Duncan  is  about 
again." 

"Yes,  so  it  seems.  I  trust  we  shall  not  run 
across  her  anywhere." 

"  That  wouldn't  trouble  me,"  replied  Cornelia; 


High  Life  in  the  Shops.  199 

"  I  should  have  no  difficulty  in  giving  her  the  cut 
direct." 

"  Where  now  ?  "  asked  Fay. 

"  To  that  horrid  little  woman  who  has  those 
beautiful  shoes,"  and  she  named  a  street  running 
off  Broadway. 

It  was  a  little  triangular  hole  of  a  shop,  which 
was  principally  a  window,  on  the  ground-floor. 
The  window  was  full  of  boots,  shoes  and  slippers 
intended  for  ladies'  wear,  and  all  stuffed  out  with 
cotton  to  represent  feet  of  faultless  proportions, 
according  to  a  shoemaker's  idea.  Such  amazingly 
high  insteps  !  Such  curved  soles  !  Such  pointed 
toes  and  elevated  heels  !  Unfortunately  none  of 
Madame  Wiener's  customers — and  no  other  woman 
— had  feet  like  that,  and  no  small  cause  of  her  cus 
tomers'  misery  in  life  was  due  to  their  efforts  to 
make  themselves — and  other  people — believe  they 
had. 

They  entered  the  little  hole  of  a  shop,  squeezing 
through  the  doorway  to  get  in,  and  found  a  lugu 
brious  woman  in  rusty  black,  doing  battle  with  two 
horribly  dirty  children  who  were  trying  to  wrest 
from  her  hands  a  pair  of  white-satin  slippers  to  use 
as  playthings.  Seeing  her  customers,  the  woman 
with  a  frantic  effort  managed  to  drive  the  children 
away  into  some  inner  hole,  muttering  something 
about  "  les  enfants  "  being  "  le  diable." 

Mme.  Wiener's  conversation  was  one  long-drawn 
whine ;  times  were  so  hard ;  rents  were  so  dear ; 


2OO  High  Life  in  the  Shops. 

children  were  so  "  diable  ;  "  American  ladies  were 
so  lazy  that  she  didn't  dare  leave  this  expensive 
shop  and  take  one  on  an  upper  floor  where  the  rent 
would  be  cheaper ;  her  last  importation  of  boots 
had  been  a  mistake,  the  "  imbecile  "  in  Paris  having 
misunderstood  her  order  ;  a  great  leader  of  society 
had  just  mortally  offended  her  by  saying  that  her 
shop  smelled  of  apples — "  as  if  apples  smelled 
bad  !  "  ejaculated  the  unfortunate  shoe-seller. 

Cornelia  paid  the  price  of  seventeen  dollars  for  a 
pair  of  boots ;  and  Fay  bought  some  house- 
slippers  with  a  pretty  bow  for  six  dollars  ;  but 
Madame  Wiener  was  still  grumbling,  through  her 
thanks,  when  they  departed. 

Their  next  and  last  errand  was  to  the  dressmaker 
— Penelon,  the  renowned.  This  personage  occu 
pied  a  handsome  house  over  whose  broad  portal  the 
magic  word  PENELON  !  was  inscribed  in  gilt  letters, 
in  the  fashion  of  the  tomb  of  the  Capulets  as  seen 
on  any  stage.  Handsome  lace  curtains  were  hang 
ing  at  the  windows  ;  the  vestibule  was  paved  with 
marble  kept  spotlessly  clean ;  a  capacious  umbrella- 
rack  gave  token  of  the  number  of  visitors  whom 
Madame  Penelon  was  in  the  habit  of  receiving  on 
rainy  days  as  well  as  others. 

Madame  Penelon  was  a  very  different  person 
from  either  of  the  two  female  merchants  whom  the 
girls  had  this  morning  visited.  She  was  probably 
a  great  deal  richer  than  even  the  great  Dortch  ;  for 
where  Dortch  handled  from  $25  to  $50  each  for 


High  Life  in  the  Shops.  201 

hats,  no  dress  had  ever  been  known  to  leave  Pene- 
lon's  establishment  costing  less  than  $100,  and 
there  was  a  wedding  dress  at  this  moment  hanging 
on  a  wire  figure  in  the  parlor  whose  price  was 
$1000.  Her  charges  were  ruinous  ;  yet  her  clien 
tele  was  enormous  and  constantly  increasing.  She 
was  a  personable  woman  of  about  forty,  tall  and 
stout,  with  beady  black  eyes,  rosy  cheeks,  and 
black  hair  always  admirably  coiffe".  Two  superb 
brilliants  hung  in  her  ears,  and  she  showed  her 
French  instincts  unmistakably  in  this  ;  for  if  you 
will  observe,  your  French  woman,  let  her  be  never 
so  thrifty,  never  so  saving,  must  pay  herself  first  a 
pair  of  diamond  earrings  out  of  her  economies — 
other  savings  may  follow,  but  this  national  coquetry 
must  come  first. 

Madame  Penelon  greeted  the  young  ladies  with 
a  cordiality  not  less  marked  than  that  of  the  great 
Dortch  ;  but  it  was  more  graceful,  less  forced,  thor 
oughly  French.  She  inquired  their  pleasure  with 
as  sweet  a  smile  and  as  keen  an  interest  as  if  on 
their  custom  alone  depended  her  ability  to  keep  up 
the  elegant  house  in  which  she  lived  ;  or,  better 
still,  as  if  there  were  no  question  of  self-interest  in 
the  matter  at  all,  but  as  if  the  fashioning  of  new 
gowns  for  these  two  lovely  girls  were  her  one 
esthetic  joy  in  life. 

When  Cornelia  had  ordered  a  dinner  toilet,  and  a 
street  costume,  and  something  she  could  wear  to 
the  opera  if  they  chanced  to  go,  and  a  black  silk 


2O2  High  Life  in  the  Shops. 

suit  pour  toujoiirs  alter,  Madame  Penelon's  capa 
cious  maw  yawned  again  and  asked  for  "  more." 

"Why,  nothing  more,  I  think,"  said  Cornelia, 
"  unless  you  care  to  undertake  the  making  of  a 
little  dress  for  me  at  charges  which  shall  bear 
some  proportion  to  the  cost  of  the  material. 
It  was  brought  me  from  Canada  the  other  day, 
and  the  whole  dress  pattern  cost  less  than  two 
pounds." 

Brought  from  the  carriage,  it  proved  to  be  an 
admirable  woolen  fabric,  soft  in  texture,  dark  in 
hue,  which  when  well  made  would  be  excellent 
wear  for  the  street,  especially  in  quiet  Philadelphia. 
Penelon  admired  it,  thought  it  would  be  chic  if 
made  up  "stylishly,"  but  as  for  cheapness! — 
desotie,  but  really  it  was  as  much  trouble  to  make 
this  dress  as  another ;  the  trimmings  would  be  as 
costly  as  for  a  more  expensive  fabric,  and  so  Pene 
lon  found  it  impossible  to  turn  out  this  little  dress, 
which  originally  cost  ten  dollars,  for  less  than 
seventy-five  dollars. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  a  girl  so  rich  as  Cor 
nelia  Cornwallis  should  take  the  trouble  to  inform 
herself  in  advance  on  such  an  ignoble  subject  as 
this  matter  of  tradespeople's  charges.  "  How  much 
will  it  be?"  is  such  a  difficult  question  for  some 
people  to  utter.  Impecuniosity's  idea  is  that  Opu 
lence  walks  into  shops,  orders  what  it  likes,  coolly 
says,  "Send  the  bill,"  and  sweeps  grandly  away — 
as  open-handed  as  those  generous  folk  of  the  stage, 


High  Life  in  the  Shops.  203 

who  fling  their  money,  the  purse  included,  to  the 
first  beggar.  But,  this  is  Shoddy's  plan,  not  true 
Fortune's.  "*'  If  your  purse  has  a  hole  in  it,"  says 
a  French  proverb,  "  it  will  soon  be  empty,  no  mat 
ter  how  long  it  is."  Cornelia  Cornwallis  was  a 
very  rich  girl,  and  scarcely  knew  what  it  was  to 
deny  herself  anything  she  wanted  ;  yet  she  always 
inquired  beforehand  what  things  were  to  cost,  and 
if  she  was  cheated,  she  at  least  had  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  she  had  agreed  to  it. 

Seventy-five  dollars  for  making  a  dress  which 
cost  ten  was  so  manifest  an  absurdity  that  Cornelia 
sent  the  parcel  back  to  the  carriage. 

"  I  know  a  woman  who  will  make  up  that  dress 
quite  well  enough  and  charge  you  the  most  moder 
ate  price,"  said  Fay,  when  they  were  again  wheel 
ing  through  the  busy  streets. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  asked  Cornelia. 

"  Her  name  is  Mrs.  Nuffer." 

"Mrs.  Nuffer?" 

"Yes;  a  good,  honest  soul,  and  a  very  neat 
sempstress.  She  has  no  especial '  style,'  of  course, 
but  by  imitating  your  other  dresses  I  think  she 
will  satisfy  you.  We  often  employ  her  to  re 
arrange  dresses  that  have  got  out  of  fashion,  but 
which  are  still  good.  I'll  write  to  her  this  after 
noon  to  come  and  see  you." 

"  Yes,  do,"  said  Cornelia. 

Fay  hastily  inscribed  the  name  "  Nuffer"  on  her 
tablets  and  then  looking  at  her  watch,  said,  "We 


2O4  High  Life  in  the  Shops. 

have  still  an  hour  before  lunch  time.  Shall  we  go 
to  Goupil's  and  look  at  the  new  pictures  ?  " 

Cornelia  acquiescing,  Fay  gave  the  good-natured 
Jo,  who  was  sitting  on  the  box  with  folded  arms 
and  a  back  with  a  curve  in"  it  Apollo  might  have 
envied,  a  little  poke  in  the  waist  with  her  parasol, 
at  which  he  turned  quickly,  and  touching  his  hat, 
leaned  back  over  the  carriage  to  catch  the  order 
in  such  a  perilous  position  that  Fay  was  quite 
alarmed. 

"  Take  care,  Jo,"  cried  she,  "  you'll  be  tumbling 
into  the  carriage  next." 

"  No  fear,  miss,"  said  Jo,  with  a  mouth  dis 
tended  from  ear  to  ear  in  the  jolliest  of  grins. 

"  Goupil's  !  "  said  Fay. 

Jo  rapped  his  hat-brim  with  the  side  of  his  fore 
finger,  and  leaving  Broadway  still  seething  with  its 
crowds,  they  turned  into  Fifth  Avenue. 

The  exhibition  was  a  small  room  up  a  short 
flight  of  stairs  which  swept  to  the  right  and  left 
at  the  back.  The  entrance  door  was  heavily 
draped  with  maroon  cloth,  and  besides  a  new 
Cleopatra  which  occupied  the  place  of  honor,  there 
v/ere  a  number  of  other  choice  pieces  by  favorite 
foreign  artists.  The  little  room  was  almost  un 
comfortably  crowded  when  Fay  and  Cornelia  en 
tered.  A  faint  odor  of  Ess  bouquet,  geranium, 
and  other  delicate  scents  was  rather  felt  than  de 
tected  through  the  sense  of  smell ;  and  the  rustle 
of  silks,  the  flash  of  gold-rimmed  eye-glasses,  and 


High  Life  in  the  Shops.  205 

the  sight  of  cashmere  shawls  carelessly  hung 
across  their  owners'  arms  ready  for  wear  should 
the  weather  change,  and  other  gorgeous  parapher 
nalia,  allied  to  faces  really  beautiful  when  they  hap 
pened  to  be  young,  worn  and  faded  when  they 
happened  not  to  be  young,  but  coarse  and  vulgar 
at  no  period,  showed  the  gathering  to  be  chiefly 
made  up  of  that  class  who  call  themselves  the  ex- 
clusives  of  New  York. 

Of  course  in  such  an  assemblage  Fay  and  Cor 
nelia  met  several  people  they  knew — among  others 
Mrs.  Laidless,  the  English  lady  whom  they  had 
met  at  Long  Branch,  who  was  now  known  as  a 
countess,  and  was  an  immense  lioness  in  conse 
quence.  Her  chief  topic  of  conversation  was  the 
weather — a  hackneyed  theme,  but  one  in  which 
she  threw  such  positive  enthusiasm,  that  it  seemed 
fresh  and  vital. 

"  Such  lovely  weather  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with 
real,  whole-souled  admiration  in  her  hearty  voice. 
"  Is  it  the  Indian  summer,  my  dears  ?  " 

"I  really  don't  know,"  said  Cornelia;  "the 
Indian  summer  is  such  a  vague  season,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  quite  understand  when  it  be 
gins  or  ends  ;  but  we  shall  have  it  like  this  for  a 
long  time  now." 

The  ever-moving  crowds  swept  them  apart,  and 
now  the  girls  found  themselves  face  to  face  with  a 
gentleman  who  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  houses 
of  both  and  at  all  the  best  houses  in  the  town — • 


206  High  Life  in  the  Shops. 

Major  Cheraw,  whom  we  have  met  once  or  twice 
before.  The  major  was  a  graduate  of  West  Point, 
had  been  in  the  regular  army  and  lost  his  left  arm 
at  Monterey.  After  the  close  of  the  Mexican 
war  he  left  the  army,  and  went  to  Europe,  where 
he  lived  in  superb  style  en  garqon  in  Paris  for 
years.  He  was  understood  to  be  living  beyond 
his  means,  and  did,  in  fact,  make  serious  inroads 
into  a  fine  fortune.  The  breaking  out  of  the  war 
between  the  North  and  South  called  him  back  to 
America,  where  he  again  offered  his  sword  to  his 
country.  It  is  not  unnatural  that  Major  Cheraw 
should  have  expected  that  his  country  would 
gladly  avail  herself  of  the  offer  of  a  sword  which 
had  already  been  honorably  wielded  in  her  service 
— that  his  country  should  at  once  bestow  upon 
him  a  position  which  a  brave  soldier  and  a  gentle 
man  of  means  and  family  might  be  proud  to  fill. 
In  all  this  he  was  disappointed.  "  Things  had 
changed  since  I  was  home  last,"  said  the  major, 
with  dignity.  "  I  found,  sir,  that  the  leading  po 
sitions  in  the  army  were  filled  by  Germans  who 
had  been  in  the  ranks  of  their  army  at  home, 
Irishmen  who  had  never  wielded  anything  more 
murderous  than  a  shillalah,  and  American  politi 
cians  whose  chief  instrument  of  destruction  was 
the  whiskey-bottle — men,  I  don't  deny,  sir,  who 
did  their  work  well,  as  it  proved,  but  whp  never 
theless  were  in  the  estimation  of  a  gentleman 
fresh  from  daily  intercourse  with  the  titled  officers 


High  Life  in  the  Shops.  207 

in  the  armies  of  England  and  France,  sir,  a  pack 
of  low  wretches  with  whom  it  was  impossible  to 
associate.  I  found  my  breeding  a  positive  bar  to 
my  obtaining  a  position,  sir.  Democracy  howled 
at  the  idea  of  receiving  the  word  of  command 
from  lips  which  were  in  the  habit  of  uttering 
grammatical  sentences  ;  it  laughed  at  my  semi- 
military  costume — a  uniform  and  not  a  uniform, 
which  I  had  adopted  in  Europe  simply  to  show 
that  I  was  a  soldier  and  had  lost  my  arm  in  battle 
and  not  in  some  accident  with  machinery  ;  a  nec 
essity  that  would  have  been  obviated  if  the  United 
States  had  allowed  me  to  put  a  bit  of  ribbon  in  my 
buttonhole,  sir,  as  Frenchmen  do." 

The  lukewarm  manner  in  which  the  offer  of 
Cheraw's  services  had  been  received  in  Washing 
ton  was  a  bitter  sting  to  the  proud  major.  "  Nev 
ertheless,  I  must  fight  for  my  country,"  he  said 
hotly,  "even  if  I  have  to  shoulder  a  musket." 
What  it  might  have  come  to,  no  one  knows. 
Cheraw  was  suddenly  prostrated  with  rheumatic 
fever ;  for  two  years  he  was  engaged  in  fighting 
that  enemy  ;  and  at  the  end  of  that  time — ah,  bah  ! 
things  were  going  on  very  well  without  him  ;  he 
troubled  the  authorities  at  Washington  no  more 
with  offers  of  his  services.  From  that  day  to  this, 
he  had  been  that  most  useful  person  in  society,  an 
elderly  bachelor,  a  safe  and  agreeable  escort  for  all 
the  ladies  of  his  acquaintance,  married  and  single, 
young  and  old ;  always  at  leisure,  always  good- 


208  High  Life  in  the  Shops. 

natured,  always  well-dressed.  With  men  he  was 
an  immense  favorite  ;  still  rich  enough  to  live  in 
handsome  rooms,  keep  a  valet,  and  give  frequent 
bachelor  dinners  at  the  clubs  and  restaurants,  not 
a  man  of  his  set  was  more  popular  than  Major 
Che  raw. 

He  bowed  low  as  he  encountered  the  young 
ladies,  and  stood  talking  to  them  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Cleopatra,  Major  ?  "  asked 
Cornelia,  "  we  positively  haven't  got  a  glimpse  of 
it  yet  through  these  people's  backs." 

"  I  have  seen  it,  and  studied  it  for  some  time, 
though  two  fat  dowagers  stood  one  on  each  of  my 
feet  and  a  small  child  in  arms  busied  itself  with  my 
scarf-pin.  Being  a  death's  head  it — the  scarf-pin 
— frightened  it — the  child.  Whereupon  it  began 
to  bellow,  and  its  mother  removed  it." 

"And  how  do  you  like  it — I  mean  the  Cleo 
patra?  "  asked  Cornelia,  laughing. 

"I  am  bound  to  say  not  much;  the  face  of 
Cleopatra  is  positively  ugly.  Still,  surrounded  as 
it  is  by  so  many  human  faces  brimming  over  with 
loveliness,  it  may  be  that  the  picture  suffers  by 
contrast." 

"  Let  us  acknowledge  the  compliment  to  the  as 
sembled  sex  by  making  the  Major  our  prettiest 
curtseys,  Cornelia,"  said  Fay,  smiling. 

"  Inutile /  "  cried  the  Major.  "  The  compliment 
was  intended  for  you  two  ladies  alone,  who  were 


High  Life  in  the  Shops.  209 

in  my  mind's  eye  while  I  was  studying  the  picture, 
as  you  always  are." 

"  Always  !  "  uttered  Cornelia. 

"  Well,  no  matter  ;  you  were  there  at  that  mo 
ment  at  any  rate,  for  I  was  just  proceeding  to  call 
at  your  house,  and  if  I  had  not  met  you  I  should 
have  been  on  my  way  by  this." 

"  Pray  return  in  the  carriage  and  have  luncheon 
with  us,  Major.  Mamma  will  be  delighted,"  said 
Fay. 

"  Thanks  ;  but  a  prior  engagement  will  prevent 
my  having  the  pleasure,"  answered  the  Major. 
"  My  purpose  in  calling  was  to  ask  if  yourselves 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Underhill  would  honor  me  with 
your  company  at  the  West  End  Theatre  to-night. 
I  have  a  box  for  six." 

"  I  can't  answer  for  mamma  and  papa,"  said  Fay ; 
"  but  if  Cornelia  would  like  to  go,  I  shall  only  be 
too  happy  to  go  also." 

"  Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure,"  re 
joined  Cornelia,  in  answer  to  the  look  of  inquiry 
the  Major  bent  upon  her. 

"Then  at  a  quarter  before  eight,  pray  expect 
me,"  said  Major  Cheraw,  bowing  himself  away. 

"  Now  we  can  look  at  the  picture,"  cried  Fay. 
"  See,  Cornelia,  here's  a  free  space,  and  two  seats. 
How  fortunate  !  " 

But  as  they  were  about  to  take  the  seats,  Fay 
suddenly  clutched  Cornelia's  arm  and  stared  with 
dilated  eyes  and  paling  face  at  a  couple  who  passed 


2io  High  Life  in  the  Shops. 

immediately  in  front  of  them — Stuart  Phelps  with 
Mrs.  Duncan. 

Mrs.  Duncan  inclined  her  shapely  head  a  trifle, 
but  perceiving  at  a  glance  that  Miss  Cornwallis  in 
tended  to  give  her  the  cut  direct,  while  Fay's  eyes 
were  bent  upon  her  recreant  lover,  Mrs.  Duncan 
recovered  herself  and  turned  away. 

Stuart  bowed  coldly  and  haughtily  to  the  ladies, 
and  turned  away  also.  Fay,  who  had  not  bowed, 
still  followed  him  with  her  eyes.  He  spoke  to 
Mrs.  Duncan,  and  they  resumed  their  observation 
of  the  pictures. 

Then  Fay  said  to  Cornelia,  "  Let  us  go,  dear," 
and  they  left  the  gallery.  In  the  carriage  the  poor 
girl  clasped  the  hand  of  her  sympathizing  friend 
and  murmured  in  a  choking  voice,  "  Now  I  know 
I  have  lost  him  forever.  Oh,  Cornelia,  my  heart 
will  break ! " 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

A   WEEPING   WIDOW. 

WHATEVER  else  may  have  been  lacking  to  the 
happiness  of  Mrs.  Duncan,  certainly  a  well-filled 
purse  was  not.  On  her  return  from  Long  Branch 
she  at  once  drove  to  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  and 
installed  herself  in  rooms  looking  out  upon  the 
Square. 

' '  Nothing  like  a  pleasant  view,  is  there,  Marcia  ?  " 
said  she,  drawing  back  the  lace  curtains  with  her 
jeweled  fingers. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  was  Marcia's  reply,  again  from 
behind  trunk-lids. 

The  rooms  were  very  elegant.  Mrs.  Duncan 
had  more  than  one  costly  objet  d'art  which  she  car 
ried  with  her  wherever  she  went  and  which  added 
immensely  to  the  effect  of  whatever  apartments  she 
found  herself  in.  Cupid  came  forth  again  after  his 
sojourn  at  Long  Branch  and  looked  very  guileless 
standing  on  top  of  a  dwarf  bookcase  which  was 
somewhat  bare  without  him,  though  the  unrecip- 
rocative  bookcase  took  off  nothing  from  the  bare 
ness  of  the  Cupid. 

The  hotel  was  overflowing  with  visitors.     The 


212  A  Weeping  Widow. 

Fall  season  had  fairly  opened  and  people  from  all 
parts  of  the  country  were  in  town,  and  many  of  the 
fashionable  hotels  were  turning  people  away  daily. 
Madame  Pittaluga  and  the  opera  troupe  were  here 
at  the  Fifth  Avenue  ;  N.  B.  Wiggins  was  here  ; 
Hermann  Kalbfleisch  was  here,  lingering  a  few  days 
before  returning  to  Chicago,  in  the  hope  of  getting 
another  glimpse  of  Pony  Parsons,  either  here  in 
New  York,  or  by  returning  himself  to  Philadelphia. 
The  event  which  he  hoped  might  bring  her  to  New 
York  was  the  debtit  of  Madame  Pittaluga  at  the 
Academy  of  Music,  now  being  largely  advertised. 
The  opera  was  to  be  the  hackneyed  Trovatore ;  a 
strange  selection,  it  seemed,  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  Madame  Pittaluga  claimed  to  have  a  repertoire 
of  thirty  operas  ;  but  the  management  thought  the 
anvils  would  draw  the  country  people,  while 
musical  amateurs  would  be  sure  to  go  hear  the 
prima  donna  at  least  once,  no  matter  what  she  ap 
peared  in.  Tony  McDougall,  who  picked  his  teeth 
a  great  deal  under  the  columns  in  front  of  the  hotel, 
was  in  a  high  state  of  anxiety  in  regard  to  the  ap 
proaching  debtit  of  his  operatic  friend.  He  had 
very  nearly  concluded  an  arrangement  with  her  by 
which,  at  the  end  of  three  months  (during  which 
time  she  was  under  contract  to  sing  in  the  cities  of 
of  the  East  for  Metzerott,  the  New  York  impres- 
sario),  she  was  to  go  with  him  on  an  extended  tour 
in  the  West.  Tony  was  only  waiting  in  New 
York  to  be  present  at  Madame's  "first  night;" 


A  Weeping'  Widow.  213 

then,  during  her  three  months'  engagement  with 
Metzerott,  Mr.  McDougall  was  going  to  "run  a 
minstrel  show  through  New  England."  Such  is 
the  versatility  of  genius.  From  Mozart  to  "  Shoo 
fly ;  "  from  lively  to  severe. 

By  dint  of  dwelling  on  Fay's  curt  letter  and  con 
trasting  it  with  that  of  Mrs.  Duncan,  Stuart  Phelps 
had  finally  convinced  himself  that  he  was  grossly 
wronged.  What  !  his  little  Fay,  who  had  known 
him  all  these  years,  turn  on  him  now,  in  a  minute, 
as  it  were,  with  this  cruel  vindictiveness  of  spirit, 
merely  because  she  was  a  little  jealous  ? — now,  of 
all  times  in  the  world,  when  he  had  absolutely  cut 
Mrs.  Duncan  in  public,  and  had  resolved  to  see  her 
no  more  ?  He  felt  himself  very  hardly  treated. 
Being,  of  course,  unaware  of  the  terrible  tale  which 
had  reached  Fay's  ears  through  Lord  de  Coram's 
agency,  and  in  fact  being  now  in  a  sort  of  blissful 
haziness  of  mind  in  regard  to  the  events  of  that  un 
fortunate  evening,  he  was  at  a  loss  to  account 
justly  for  Fay's  indignation,  and  thought  it  exces 
sive.  Presently  he  found  himself  getting  into  a 
rage  concerning  it.  If  this  was  the  way  in  which 
Fay  was  capable  of  treating  him  whom  she  pre 
tended  to  love,  he  had  reason  to  rejoice  that  he  was 
not  to  be  tied  to  her  for  life.  "  Heaven  forfend 
that  I  should  ever  be  a  hen-pecked  husband  ! " 
muttered  Stuart  between  his  teeth. 

He  began  to  think  a  good  deal  about  Mrs.  Dun 
can — and  not  unkindly.  As  the  days  passed  on, 


214  -A  Weeping  Widow. 

he  fell  into  a  way  of  thinking  that  he  ought  at  least 
to  give  her  an  opportunity  for  an  explanation — of 
what,  he  hardly  knew  ;  but  Fay's  refusal  to  hear 
his  own  explanation  had  so  galled  him  that  he  put 
himself  in  Mrs.  Duncan's  place.  True,  he  thought 
he  would  never  stoop  to  an  explanation  with  Fay  ; 
he  had  been  too  deeply  wronged  for  that ;  expla 
nation  must  come  from  her. 

He  could  not  quite  make  up  his  mind,  notwith 
standing,  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Duncan  at  her  hotel. 
But  he  had  fully  resolved  that  if  he  should  meet 
her  by  chance  he  would  not  be  unkind.  So  the 
days  had  passed  on  ;  and  one  day  he  had  met  her 
by  chance.  It  was  the  day  when  he  went  to  the 
picture-gallery  to  see  the  new  Cleopatra.  He  had 
hardly  counted  on  Fay's  being  a  witness  to  that 
scene  ;  but  Fate  had  ordained  it  so,  it  seemed. 

"Your  friends  appear  to  have  taken  a  lesson  from 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  bitterly,  referring  to  the  cut 
she  had  this  moment  received  from  Miss  Cornwallis. 

Stuart  understood,  but  was  silent. 

"Who  was  it  set  you  against  me  at  Long 
Branch  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Duncan,  in  her  gentlest 
tones. 

She  was  bewitchingly  beautiful.  Stuart  looked 
at  her  admiringly.  Were  ever  seen  eyes  more 
deeply  blue,  cheeks  more  peach-like,  lips  riper  ? 
She  was  dressed  now  in  a  fashion  suited  to  the 
season  and  to  the  town,  and  Stuart  thought  her 
even  lovelier  thus  than  in  her  summer  draperies. 


A  Weeping  Widow.  21$ 

"Oh,  nobody — I  didn't — that  is" — some  such 
disconnected  words  fell  from  his  lips,  and  then  he 
said  :  "  It's  so  hot  and  close  in  this  place  !  Have 
you  seen  enough  of  the  pictures  ?  Will  you  walk 
outside  ?  " 

Mrs.  Duncan  smiled  bitterly. 

"  Suppose  your  friends  should  see  you  walking 
with  me  ?  No  doubt  they  are  yet  on  the  avenue. " 

"  Let  them,"  said  he,  angrily.  "  I  am  my  own 
master,  thank  Heaven  !  I  am  nobody's  slave,  to 
be  dictated  to  upon  subjects  about  which  I  am  the 
best  judge." 

They  went  outside,  but  the  Underbills'  carriage 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  They  walked  up  the 
avenue  together,  not  arm-in-arm  indeed — of  course 
not — but  in  comfortable  proximity,  to  avoid  the 
necessity  of  loud  talking.  Mrs.  Duncan's  eyes 
fairly  danced  with  pleasant  excitement,  but  Stuart 
looked  moody.  They  had  scarcely  walked  half  a 
block  when  they  came  upon  Randolph  Cabell  and 
his  graceful  wife,  strolling  arm-in-arm  upon  the 
avenue.  Stuart  blushed  like  a  girl.  Cabell  looked 
astonished,  indeed,  at  seeing  him  walking  so  com 
fortably  with  the  lady  whose  bow  he  had  in  Cabell's 
presence  so  pointedly  declined  to  return,  and  an 
amused  smile  lurked  in  the  corners  of  the  young 
Southerner's  mouth,  but  it  was  only  for  an  instant. 
There  was  courteous  greeting,  but  no  stopping  to 
speak.  Very  naturally  the  sight  of  Cabell  brought 
vividly  before  the  minds  of  both  Stuart  and  Mrs. 


216  A  Weeping  Widow. 

Duncan  the  incident  concerning  which  Mrs.  Dun.' 
can  seemed  determined  to  pursue  her  investiga 
tions. 

"You  were  sitting  with  that  gentleman  on  the 
piazza  at  Long  Branch  when  you  gave  me  that  ter 
rible  cut,  which  went  like  a  stab  to  my  heart. 
Why  did  you  cut  me  ?  Somebody  had  been  tell 
ing  you  something  about  me,  had  they  not  ? 
What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Nobody  had  been  telling  me  anything,  Mrs. 
Duncan,"  answered  Stuart ;  "  but  I'll  tell  you 
frankly  what  I  was  angry  at.  You  tempted  me 
to  drink  wine  in  your  room  the  night  before,  and 
I  got  drunk.  I  thought  I  never  could  forgive  you 
for  it." 

"  Forgive  me!  "  replied  Mrs.  Duncan.  "  Why, 
was  it  my  fault  ?  Oh,  the  old  story — '  the  woman 
tempted  me  and  I  did  eat' — the  weak,  unmanly 
cry  that  has  been  ringing  down  the  ages  since 
Adam.  Well,  was  that  all  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  was  all."  Up  to  this  moment,  Stuart 
had  thought  this  a  great  deal,  and  now  it  actually 
seemed  to  have  dwindled  down  into  an  affair  of 
very  small  importance.  "  I  hate  liquor,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  I  loathe  it  and  despise  it.  If  every  one 
were  of  my  way  of  thinking,  there  wouldn't  be  a 
thimbleful  of  spirits  swallowed  in  this  city  in  a 
year." 

"  Hum  !  You  ought  to  start  out  as  a  temperance 
lecturer,"  said  she  with — was  it  a  sneer  ?  "  When 


A  Weeping-  Widow.  217 

gentlemen  call  upon  me,"  she  continued,  "I  set 
out  wine  as  a  mere  matter  of  compliment.  They 
can  take  it  or  leave  it.  I  never  observe  which  they 
do." 

Of  course.  This  was  obviously  the  simplest 
action  of  a  courteous  hospitality.  How  stupid  he 
had  been  not  to  see  it  before  in  this  light !  He 
felt  he  was  getting  the  worst  of  the  present  argu 
ment,  such  as  it  was,  and  that  he'd  better  drop  the 
subject. 

"  There  was  a  man  at  Long  Branch,"  he  said, 
taking  up  another  thread,  "who  knew  you  in 
California." 

"Indeed!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Duncan,  the  rose 
for  an  instant  fading  on  her  cheek. 

"  Yes — a  theatrical  man." 

"A  theatrical  man  !  I  never  knew  a  theatrical 
man  in  my  life,"  cried  the  widow.  "Now  what 
will  they  say  about  me  next  ?  I  shouldn't  be  sur 
prised  if  this  man  told  you  I'd  been  a  ballet  dancer 
or  something  equally  disgraceful." 

"No,  no,"  said  Stuart,  gravely;  "he  said  you 
were  the  wife  of  a  prominent  gentleman — only  one 
thing  he  did  say  that  I  didn't  exactly  like." 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Mrs.  Duncan,  anx 
iously. 

"  He  said  you  were  rather  '  fast.' ' 

"  Fast  !  "  repeated  she,  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
anger.  "  What  does  that  absurd  word  mean,  I'd 
like  to  know  ?  I  suppose  I  was  '  fast '  because  I 
10 


218  A  Weeping  Widow. 

drove  my  husband's  horses  about  the  streets,  when 
he  was  too  busy  to  accompany  me.  Oh,  people 
are  so  narrow-minded !  But  this  sort  of  persecu 
tion  is  well  known  to  me.  It  has  followed  me  all 
my  life,  and  I  suppose  will  follow  me  to  the  grave. 
I  try  not  to  mind  it — I  feel  that  I  am  foolish  and 
weak  to  mind  it — but  there  are  moments  when  it 
seems  too  much  to  bear." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  Stuart  feeling  a 
growing  sense  every  moment  that  he  had  been  ill- 
treating  this  unhappy  lady,  and  that  it  was  his 
bounden  duty  as  a  man  and  a  gentleman  to  atone 
in  some  way  for  his  past  conduct.  But  how? 
That  was  not  so  clear.  Not  by  making  love  to 
her  certainly — on  that  point  he  was  quite  deter 
mined — nor  by  permitting  her  to  make  love  to  him. 
He  had  a  vague  recollection  of  having  been  rather 
affectionate  to  Mrs.  Duncan  on  the  night  when 
her  wine  had  been  too  much  for  him,  but  such  a 
thing  should  not  occur  again — simply  because  he 
should  not  drink  wine  again.  So  his  thoughts 
were  running,  when  they  reached  the  hotel. 

"  Will  you  come  in  with  me  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Dun 
can,  as  they  turned  into  Twenty-third  Street  and 
walked  toward  the  side  entrance  of  the  building. 
Stuart  hesitated. 

"Confess,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  "that  you  are 
afraid  of  Mrs.  Grundy  after  all,  Stuart  Phelps. 
You  are  asking  yourself  what  she  will  say  if  she 
sees  you  do  so  dreadful  a  thing  as  accept  a  lady's 


A  Weeping  Widow.  219 

polite  invitation  to  sit  for  a  few  minutes  in  her 
parlor,  in  a  respectable  hotel,  and  in  broad  day." 

"  I  care  nothing,  not  only  for  Mrs.  Grundy,  but 
for  Mr.  Grundy  and  Miss  Grundy  and  all  the 
little  Grundys,"  Stuart  replied,  trying  to  laugh  it 
off. 

"  That  sounds  like  you,  Stuart,"  said  Mrs.  Dun 
can  with  enthusiasm  ;  and  they  passed  into  the 
hotel,  and  ascended  to  the  pleasant  parlor  looking 
on  the  Square. 

The  sly  Marcia  eyed  him  narrowly  as  he  entered, 
and  then  retired  to  her  customary  haunt,  the  inner 
room,  where  she  could  easily  hear  the  conversation 
which  passed  in  the  parlor. 

But  Mrs.  Grundy  herself  might  have  heard  the 
conversation  without  being  shocked.  It  treated 
only  of  the  most  Platonic  friendship. 

"  Of  course  you  do  not  need  that  I  should  re 
mind  you,  Mrs.  Duncan,"  said  Stuart,  with  a  firm 
and  determined  voice,  "that  whatever  I  did  or 
said,  that  night  at  Long  Branch,  when  I  was  under 
the  influence  of  liquor,  is  to  be  forgotten  between 
us." 

"  Oh,  quite  forgotten,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  rais 
ing  her  eyes  to  Stuart's  in  the  most  tender  and 
loving  manner  possible. 

"  I  have  but  the  vaguest  recollection  of  all  that 
took  place,"  said  Stuart;  "indeed,  I  never  should 
have  alluded  to  the  subject  if  you  had  not  men 
tioned  it  in  your  letter  to  me." 


220  The  Voting  Actress. 

"  Let  us  not  speak  of  it  again,  my  friend,"  said 
Mrs.  Duncan  ;  "let  us  forget  everything  you  desire 
to  forget." 

Stuart  left  the  hotel  after  an  hour,  quite  at  ease 
in  his  conscience,  and  determined  that  he  would 
prove  henceforth  how  true  and  loyal  a  friend  he 
could  be  to  Mrs.  Duncan,  without  being  in  the  least 
a  lover. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   YOUNG   ACTRESS. 

MRS.  NUFFER  stood  at  her  door  in  the  early 
morning,  engaged  in  conversation  with  the  post 
man. 

"  Here's  a  letter  for  you,  Mrs.  Nuffer,"  said  the 
postman,  handing  her  the  neat  epistle  which  Fay 
Underhill  had  written  according  to  her  promise  to 
Cornelia. 

"  How  nice  it  smells  !  "  said  Mrs.  Nuffer  putting 
the  letter  to  her  spectacled  nose.  "Spices  and 
frankincense  and  myrrh." 

"  Patchouly  more  like,"  said  the  postman,  who 
knew  Mrs.  Nufifer  and  her  peculiarities,  and  con 
sidered  them  a  precious  source  of  amusement. 
"And  here's  your  Christian  Exhorter,  Mrs. 
Nuffer — two  cents  postage  on  that.  I  tell  you 


The  Young  Actress.  221 

what,  if  you'd  pay  your  postage  quarterly  in  ad 
vance  it  would  make  me  less  trouble  and  save  you 
considerable,  too,  Mrs.  Nuffer." 

"Far  be  it  from  me,"  said  the  old  woman, 
stooping  over  and  rummaging  in  the  pocket  of  her 
rusty  black  dress,  "to  calculate  on  the  chances  of 
mortal  life  so  fur  as  to  pay  postage  fur  three 
blessed  months  to  come,  when  I  may  be  in 
Abraham's  bosom  afore  the  time  is  half  gone.  We 
know  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you'd  bring  forth  that  two  cents," 
said  the  postman,  "for  I've  stopped  here  long 
enough  already." 

Here  Mrs.  Nuffer  produced  a  small  needle-case 
from  her  pocket,  and  said,  "  Lend  me  your  knife." 

"  I  haven't  got  any,"  said  he. 

"Never  mind,  I'll  get  my  scissors,"  said  Mrs. 
Nuffer,  going  within  for  the  purpose  ;  when  she 
had  found  them  she  returned  to  the  door,  and  plied 
away  at  the  brass  clasp  of  the  little  needle-case ; 
for  in  this  diminutive  receptacle  she  kept  her  still 
more  diminutive  store  of  money.  Having  opened 
it,  Mrs.  Nuffer  clasped  her  hands  together  and 
gave  a  little  shriek  of  astonishment. 

"  I  made  sure  I  had  a  two-cent  piece  ;  but  I 
haven't.  No  matter.  The  Lord  will  provide. 
I'll  bony  it." 

"  Hurry  up  now,"  said  the  postman,  while  Mrs. 
Nuffer  crossed  the  passage-way  and  knocked  at  the 
door  of  a  room  looking  on  the  street.  There  was 


222  The  Young  Actress. 

a  scramble,  and  a  noise  as  of  pots  and  pans  inside 
the  room  ;  and  then  the  lovely  face  of  a  bright 
young  girl,  flushed  with  heat,  as  if  she  had  been 
bending  over  the  fire,  appeared  as  it  opened 
cautiously  ajar ;  but  the  young  girl  smiled  pleas 
antly  when  she  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Nuffer  stand 
ing  with  the  poor  needle-book  in  her  hand. 

"Want  a  knife,  Mrs.  Nuffer?"  said  the  girl 
with  the  smiling  face — who  was  acquainted,  it 
seemed,  with  the  needle-book  and  its  tiresome 
clasp  that  had  to  be  wrenched  open  to  disclose  its 
emptiness. 

"No,  Rosalind,  I  want  to  borry  a  two-cent 
piece.  Can  you  lend  it  to  me  for  a  short  time?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Bright-eyes,  immediately 
offering  the  coin,  and  then  retiring  inside  her 
room. 

When  she  had  settled  her  dues  with  the  post 
man,  Mrs.  Nuffer  again  knocked  at  the  door 
opposite  her  own.  This  time  her  knock  was 
answered  by  a  feeble  voice,  evidently  a  woman's, 
and  Mrs.  Nuffer  walked  in. 

"Any  better  this  morning,  Mrs.  Golden?" 
asked  Mrs.  Nuffer,  sitting  down,  with  Fay's  letter 
in  her  hand.  Her  question  was  addressed  to  a 
pale  woman,  well  on  in  years,  who  was  propped 
up  in  an  easy-chair  with  pillows  and  cushions,  and 
whom  you  soon  observed  was  a  paralytic.  The 
bright-eyed  girl  was  not  to  be  seen,  but  the  clatter 
of  crockery  ware  in  an  inner  room  revealed  her 


The  Young  Actress.  223 

whereabouts  and  occupation — she  was  washing  up 
the  morning's  breakfast  dishes. 

"  I  got  a  letter  this  morning  from  Miss  Fay 
Underhill,  one  of  my  customers,  Mrs.  Golden  ; 
you  know  you've  often  heard  me  speak  of  the 
Underhills,  real  nice  folks  as  ever  lived,  and  that 
rich  !  "  here  Mrs.  Nuffer  clasped  her  hands  enthu 
siastically,  and  rolled  her  eyes  up  at  the  ceiling, 
as  if  it  could  testify  to  the  richness  and  the  real 
niceness  of  the  Underhill  family  if  it  would  but 
speak.  "Not  but  what  riches  takes  wings,"  she 
added,  in  a  subdued  voice. 

"Yes,  yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Golden,  in  the 
querulous  tone  of  the  confirmed  invalid.  "  I  know 
well  enough  who  John  W.  Underhill  is.  You 
can't  tell  me  much  about  John  W.  Underhill  that  I 
don't  know.  You  never  heard  him  speak  of  a 
certain  Helen  Wilson,  did  you  ?  " 

"No,  I  never  did,"  answered  Mrs.  Nuffer, 
meekly. 

"  No,  I'll  be  bound  you  didn't.  These  rich 
men  don't  trouble  themselves  long  about  poor 
girls  like  Helen  Wilson.  No  matter,  I  don't  say 
anything— as  they're  your  friends,  of  course  Mrs. 
Nuffer — "  here  Mrs.  Nuffer  sniffed,  whether  with 
pride  or  shame  at  having  the  Underhill  family 
for  friends  was  not  exactly  clear;  "but  the  first 
time  you  feel  the  spirit  move  you  to  do  the  Lord's 
work  that  you're  always  so  anxious  about,  just  you 
tell  John  W.  Underhill  that  when  he  wants  to  find 


224  The  Young  Actress. 

out  what's  become  of  Helen  Wilson,  why,  that  I 
can  tell  him." 

Mrs.  Nuffer  looked  as  crushed  and  humbled  as 
if  the  failure  of  John  W.  Underbill — to  whom,  by 
the  way,  she  had  never  spoken  a  word — to  do  his 
duty  toward  Helen  Wilson — a  mere  abstraction  so 
far  as  Mrs.  Nuffer  was  concerned — was  her  own, 
Mrs.  Nuffcr's,  sole  and  particular  fault. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  the  bright-eyed  girl, 
coming  in  from  the  other  room  with  her  cheery 
smile  ;  "  mother,  arc  you  scolding  Mrs.  Nuffer  ?  " 

Mrs.  Golden  settled  herself  back  among  her 
pillows,  and  vouchsafed  no  reply,  while  Mrs. 
Nuffer  looked  pathetically  at  the  young  girl  and 
sniffed  out  laconically  "John  W.  Underbill." 

"What,  that  old  affair  again?"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  light  laugh.  "  Come,  mother,  do  let 
John  W.  rest  for  a  while.  He  hasn't  been  con 
fessing  his  sins  to  you  about  Helen  Wilson,  has 
he,  Mrs.  Nuffer?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Nuffer;  "confession  without 
repentance  and  good  works  will  not  avail."  Then 
she  added,  "  I  on'y  got  a  note  from  Miss  Fay  this 
morning,  telling  me  to  come  there  and  do  some 
work." 

"The  thing  which  has  happened  so  frequently 
before.  I'm  glad  of  it ;  you  needed  the  job,  didn't 
you  ?  " 

"  Pocketbook  is  down  to  the  needles  now,  Rosa 
lind,"  said  Mrs.  Nuffer,  holding  it  up  to  view. 


The  Young  Actress.  225 

"And  needles  are  not  very  useful  as  currency. 
Well,  Mrs.  Nuffer,  I  suppose  you'll  be  there  all 
day,  sewing  for  the  ladies,"  said  Rosalind. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,  and  if  I  get  a  chance  I'll 
just  speak  to  Mr.  Underhill  about  Helen  Wilson," 
said  Mrs.  Nuffer,  resolutely. 

"  Yes,  and  get  yourself  turned  out  of  the  house 
for  your  pains,"  put  in  Mrs.  Golden.  "  No — bet 
ter  leave  it  all  alone.  His  punishment  will  over 
take  him  some  day." 

"Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord,"  ejaculated 
Mrs.  Nuffer,  rising. 

"  Well  I  hope  the  Lord  will  remember  this  busi 
ness,"  said  Mrs.  Golden. 

The  needle-book  being,  as  Mrs.  Nuffer  said,  des 
titute  of  everything  except  needles,  Mrs.  Nuffer 
was  obliged  to  incur  another  small  debt  by  bor 
rowing  enough  to  pay  car  fare  to  and  from  the 
house  where  she  was  going  to  pass  the  day.  This 
she  did  with  many  apologies  and  a  profuse  quota 
tion  of  Bible  texts  ;  and  finally  took  her  leave  of 
the  young  and  the  old  woman  by  reminding  them 
that  very  probably  one  or  both  or  all  three  of  them 
would  be  dead  before  night,  and  to  bear  them 
selves  accordingly. 

As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  behind  their 
pious  friend,  Rosalind  Golden  locked  it  carefully, 
and  after  giving  her  mother's  pillows  and  cushions 
a  fresh  shaking-up,  that  the  invalid  might  rest  the 
more  comfortably,  she  opened  a  bureau-drawer 
10* 


226  The  Young  Actress. 

and  took  therefrom  a  cap  and  apron  whose  fantas 
tic  smartness  of  ribbons  and  frills  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  poor  and  sombre  room  in  which 
they  were  displayed. 

"  I'll  finish  trimming  them  while  you  are  at  re 
hearsal,  Rosie/'  said  the  invalid  holding  out  her 
hand  for  the  gay  trappings. 

"The  call  is  for  half-past  ten,"  answered  the 
girl,  a  dark  shadow  creeping  over  her  young  face 
and  the  bright  smile  fading  away;  "I've  still 
nearly  an  hour.  I  can  finish  it  myself  in  that  time, 
I  think;"  and  taking  up  needle  and  thimble  she 
proceeded  rapidly  with  the  work. 

"  Is  your  part  good  for  anything  in  this  new 
piece,  my  child  ?  "  inquired  the  mother,  in  a  voice 
in  which  solicitude,  care,  pride,  and  ambition  for 
the  daughter  were  distinctly  traceable. 

"  Oh  no,  only  a  few  lines,"  the  shadow  on  the 
face  deepening  into  a  frown  ;  "  I  shan't  set  the 
North  River  on  fire  in  this  part,  mother,  so  you 
needn't  expect  it,"  and  the  busy  fingers  flew  on 
with  their  task. 

"  Well  now,  I  don't  know,  Rosie,"  replied  the 
mother  in  a  comforting  tone,  "  many  a  big  hit  has 
been  made  by  people  playing  little  bits  that  don't 
promise  anything  at  rehearsal ;  but  somehow  they 
struck  the  audience  at  night.  Why,  I've  heard 
that  Dundreary  was  only  a  few  lines  in  the  way  the 
piece  was  originally  written,  and  that  Sothern 
was  so  vexed  at  having  to  act  such  a  poor  part  that 


The  Young  Actress.  227 

he  went  on  and  guyed  it  and  to  his  astonishment 
made  a  great  hit." 

"  I  shall  never  make  a  hit  in  a  part  like  this," 
said  the  girl,  doggedly,  "  and  never  want  to." 

Seeing  that  for  some  reason  or  other  there  was 
deeper  feeling  at  work  here  than  usual,  Mrs. 
Golden  laid  her  emaciated  hand  on  her  daughter's 
shoulder,  and  gazing  into  her  face  as  if  to  read  it 
to  its  last  word,  she  said  : 

"Why,  child,  what  is  the  matter  with  this 
part  ?  " 

Rosalind  lifted  her  eyes  to  her  mother's,  and 
Mrs.  Golden  saw  they  were  swimming  in  tears. 

"Rosie!" 

Rosie  buried  her  face  in  her  mother's  lap,  and 
the  poor  white  hand  stroked  the  glossy  hair  while 
the  young  girl  gave  way  to  a  paroxysm  of  tears. 
At  length  she  mastered  herself. 

"  Oh  mother,  it  is  such  a  dreadful  part  !  Such 
a  vile,  hateful  part  !  I  don't  see  how  I  can  have 
the  face  to  speak  the  lines,  though  there  are  not 
more  than  a  dozen  of  them.  I  didn't  want  to  say 
anything  about  it  to  you,  for  I  knew  it  would 
only  worry  you." 

"You  told  me  it  was  a  French  waiting-maid, 
and  I  said  '  then  you  must  have  a  white  cap  and 
apron  trimmed  with  pink  satin  ribbon.'  ' 

This  was  Mrs.  Golden's  part  in  the  drama  of 
life.  To  sit  from  day  to  day  imprisoned  in  this 
room  and  this  chair,  living  only  for  and  through 


228  The  Young  Actress. 

her  daughter — feeling  her  joys,  her  sorrows,  her 
ambitions,  and  her  disappointments  ;  waiting  with 
the  announcement  of  every  new  piece  to  hear  what 
was  to  be  her  daughter's  part  in  it,  that  she  might 
give  forth  her  fiat  in  regard  to  what  must  be  worn 
for  such  a  part — or  rather  what  Rosalind  could 
select  that  would  be  nearest  a  correct  costume, 
from  the  limited  and  somewhat  shabby  stage 
wardrobe  which  had  once  been  the  mother's  and 
was  now  the  daughter's — for  Rosalind's  parents 
had  both  been  on  the  stage.  For  instance  :  court 
lady  of  the  olden  time  (a  wide  scope) — black  cot 
ton  velvet  and  stomacher  covered  with  wax  beads, 
many  of  which  were  broken.  Fashionable  lady  of 
the  present  day — a  faded  blue  silk  with  lace 
flounces,  the  toilet  freshened  with  such  adjuncts  as 
French  flowers  and  kid  gloves,  this  latter  a  terrible 
item  of  expense  when  "  society  plays  "  were  run 
ning.  Peasant  girls  from  all  parts  of  the  world 
indiscriminately  (except  Spain) — red  merino  petti 
coat  and  black-  velvet  bodice.  Spanish  peasant 
— the  same  with  the  addition  of  veil  and  comb. 
Parts  of  all  kinds  in  local  pieces,  except  when  por 
traying  a  heroine  in  "  Society" — the  clothing  she 
wore  every  day,  a  black  alpaca  mostly,  in  various 
stages  of  respectability.  French  waiting-maid 
from  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.  down  to  the  present 
day — the  gown  at  discretion,  but,  white  cap  and 
apron  trimmed  with  pink  satin  ribbon. 

"  Yes,  I  told  you  it  was  a  French  waiting-maid, 


The  Young  Actress.  229 

and  I  didn't  want  to  tell  you  any  more  than  that. 
I  really  didn't  comprehend  how  bad  the  part  was 
until  we  had  rehearsed  the  play  once  or  twice. 
The  whole  piece  is  perfectly  vile.  I  wonder  how 
decent  people  can  come  to  the  theatre  to  hear  such 
things.  I  hope  it  will  be  a  dead  failure." 

"  But,  what  is  it  that's  so  bad  about  your  part  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Golden. 

"  In  the  first  place  she's  an  impudent  minx,  al 
ways  giving  pert  replies  to  everybody  that  speaks 
to  her — the  very  antipodes  of  my  nature  to  begin 
with  ;  in  the  next,  she's  employed  by  the  gentle 
man  of  the  house  to  spy  upon  his  wife  and  does 
so  ;  and  brings  back  a  horrible  story  that  makes 
the  husband  shoot  the  lover,  and  the  father-in-law 
shoot  the  husband,  and  a  lot  more  such  trash. 
But  the  worst  is,  that  this  waiting-maid  is  as  vile 
as  anybody,  and  when  she  is  charged  with  it,  in 
stantly  acknowledges  it  and  says,  '  I  only  followed 
the  example  of  my  betters.'  ' 

"  How  shocking  !  "  said  the  poor  mother,  her 
eyes  now  filled  with  tears  at  the  knowledge  that 
her  Rosie  had  to  submit  to  such  a  trial;  "can't 
you  get  out  of  speaking  that  one  line,  Rosie  ?  " 

"  I  tried  to  do  so,  and  hard,  I  can  tell  you.  I 
went  to  the  prompter  and  asked  him  if  I  couldn't 
cut  that  line  out.  He  said,  no  of  course  not,  that 
was  somebody's  cue  to  speak  ;  then  I  said  couldn't 
we  arrange  another  cue  for  them  to  speak  on  ;  and 
then  it  turned  out  that  that  is  the  cue  for  the 


230  The  Young  Actress. 

leading  man's  great  speech  in  the  play,  and  my 
line  about  '  following  the  example  of  my  betters  ' 
is  the  key-note  which  sets  him  off  into  a  long 
rigmarole  in  which  he  rants  and  tears  about  the 
stage,  philosophizing  about  woman's  fall  from 
virtue,  and  all  sorts  of  disgusting  things,  and  every 
once  in  a  while  he  makes  a  climax  by  pointing  at 
me  and  saying  to  the  audience,  '  This  vile  creat 
ure  !  This  abandoned  waiting-maid !  No,  no, 
pity  my  wife,  she  is  frail  but  fair ;  let  all  your  exe 
cration  fall  on  Toinette  the  waiting-maid,  who  is 
neither  virtuous  nor  pretty  !  ' 

"Good  gracious!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Golden, 
moving  restlessly  in  her  chair,  too  much  affected 
to  see  anything  laughable  in  this  translated  bal 
derdash  ;  "  I've  been  connected  with  the  profes 
sion  forty  years  and  I  never  heard  of  such  things." 

"  They  say  it  is  very  delicate  and  clever  in  the 
French,"  continued  Rosalind  bitterly,  as  she  ab 
stractedly  fashioned  the  bright  bows  of  ribbon 
which  were  to  accompany  her  during  her  moments 
of  degradation  ;  "  but  in  the  English  it's  dreadful — 
I  can  find  no  other  word  for  it.  I  went  to  the 
stage-manager  when  the  rehearsal  was  over  and 
said  to  him,  '  Mr.  Steele,  how  can  you  expect  a 
girl  to  stand  on  the  stage  and  have  such  things 
said  about  her  as  that?  Can't  you  let  me  off?' 
He  saw  I  was  almost  crying,  and  he  spoke  very 
kindly.  He  said,  '  Miss  Golden,  there  is  really  no 
help  for  it.  It  must  be  very  galling,  of  course,  for 


The  Young  Actress.  231 

you  to  play  such  a  part,  but  you  must  look  at 
these  things  purely  in  the  artistic  light.  Now 
Charles  Kean  was  as  fine  a  man  personally  as  I 
ever  met,  yet  he  thought  he  hadn't  played  lago 
well  when  he  didn't  get  hissed." 

"There's  a  good  deal  of  difference  between 
Charles  Kean  and  you,"  said  the  mother,  indig 
nantly. 

The  girl  smiled  grimly.  "  Yes,  I  should  think 
so  ;  also  between  lago  and  Toinette  the  waiting- 
maid.  However,  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  I 
tried  again.  I  said  '  Oh,  Mr.  Steele,  if  you'll  only 
let  me  cut  out  that  one  line ' —  Then  up  stalks 
the  author,  a  disagreeable  creature,  who  smells  of 
brandy  and  who  has  been  lording  it  around  the 
stage  ever  since  the  piece  was  put  in  rehearsal — 
cursing  the  people  when  they  got  their  exits  and 
entrances  wrong,  and  that,  too,  before  it  was  at  all 
settled  whether  we  were  to  use  the  centre  doors  or 
the  wings  as  entrances." 

"Coarse  wretch!"  muttered  Mrs.  Golden,  her 
thin  face  now  flushed,  now  pale,  with  the  emotions 
the  recital  awakened. 

"  Says  he,  '  What's  this  talk  about  cutting  out 
my  lines — my  lines  ! '  (They  say  the  piece  is  a 
translation,  word  for  word,  from  the  French — not 
an  original  line  in  it,"  interjected  Rosie.)  "  '  Can't 
I  cut  out  that  line  ?  '  said  I,  showing  him  the  line 
in  my  part.  '  No  !  '  roared  he,  in  a  voice  you  could 
have  heard  in  the  flies,  '  No — decidedly  not  ! ' 


232  The  Young  Actress. 

Then,  turning  to  the  stage-manager,  he  said,  '  Mr. 
Steele,  isn't  there  a  regulation  in  this  theatre,  which 
permits  the  manager  to  discharge  any  member  of 
the  company  who  takes  the  liberty  of  cutting  lines 
out  of  his  part  ?  ' ' 

"  Discharge  !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Golden,  her  voice 
faint  with  fear. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  frightened,  mother,"  said  Rosa 
lind,  soothingly,  "  we're  not  going  to  starve  just 
yet.  Mr.  Steele  spoke  right  up  and  said  '  We  dis 
charge  people  who  refuse  to  play  parts  they're  cast 
for,  which  Miss  Golden  has  not  done.  You  must 
speak  the  line,  Miss  Golden — good-morning.' 
That  was  the  end  of  it.  I  could  say  no  more. 
We  play  the  piece  for  the  first  time  to-night  and  I 
heard  them  say  yesterday  that  every  seat  in  the 
house  was  sold  already.  Well,  these  things  are 
done,"  added  the  poor  girl,  making  an  effort  to 
call  back  the  bright  smile  and  holding  up  the  in 
signia  of  all  French  waiting-maids  (according  to 
Mrs.  Golden's  idea)  in  the  shape  of  the  white  cap 
and  apron  with  pink  satin  ribbons. 

"Ah,  dear,"  sighed  Mrs.  Golden,  "how  I 
wish  you  could  get  off  the  stage,  since  you  hate  it 
so." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Rosalind,  "  but  if  wishes  were 
horses,  beggars  would  ride.  I  wish  I  could  get 
off  the  stage,  and  I  wish  I  could  find  something 
else  to  do  that  would  bring  us  in  as  much  money 
as  this  does.  I  get  fifteen  dollars  a  week,  and  I've 


TJic  Young  Actress.  233 

the  constant  hope  of  getting  my  salary  raised. 
Our  leading  lady  gets  a  hundred  dollars  a  week  ; 
and  Miss  Edenstone  who  is  only  a  novice  and  they 
say  played  for  nothing  at  first,  but  made  a  hit  in 
one  of  these  society  plays  last  winter,  has  now  got 
a  piece  of  her  own  written  to  fit  her  peculiarities, 
and  is  going  starring  with  it ;  they  say  she's  al 
ready  got  engagements  ahead  which  will  insure 
her  ten  thousand  dollars  for  her  season's  profit." 

"  I  wish  somebody  would  write  you  a  piece  and 
set  you  out  starring,"  groaned  Mrs.  Golden. 

"  I  suppose  this  horrid  man  would  translate  me 
a  play  from  the  French  if  I  could  pay  him  for  it," 
said  Rosalind,  "  and  then  I  see  Mr.  Tony  Mc- 
Dougall  hanging  around  the  lobbies  every  day  ; 
they  say  he  is  looking  out  for  some  attraction  to 
take  around  the  country.  However,  all  this  is  be 
yond  my  power  of  accomplishment.  And  stock 
actress  or  star  actress,  I  shall  always  hate  the 
stage,  despise  it,  loathe  it." 

"  You've  tried  to  get  something  else  to  do," 
said  Mrs.  Golden,  weeping,  "but  always  failed." 

"  Yes,  everything  is  overrun,"  said  Rosalind. 
' '  Salaries  for  those  who  are  fortunate  enough  to  get 
them  are  beggarly.  Look  at  poor  Mrs.  Nuffer — the 
neatest  sempstress  I  ever  saw,  hard-working,  living 
in  one  little  dark  back  room,  cheese  and  bread 
and  tea  her  principal  diet,  yet  half  the  time  she 
hasn't  a  single  penny  in  her  poor  little  needle- 
book." 


234  The  Young  Actress, 

"  As  was  the  case  this  morning,"  added  Mrs. 
Golden.  "  Poor  Mrs.  Nuffer  !  She  doesn't  know 
a  word  about  your  being  on  the  stage  yet,  does 
she,  Rosie  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  girl,  the  shadows  again 
falling,  and  blotting  out  the  brightness  in  her  face. 
"She  must  find  it  out  for  herself,  and  then  we 
must  take  the  consequences  of  her  discovery. 
Heigho  !  I  suppose  she'll  be  horrified,  and  cut 
loose  from  us." 

"  She  knows  well  enough  what  a  dear,  good, 
angelic  girl  you  are,  Rosie,"  said  Mrs.  Golden, 
with  all  a  mother's  tenderness. 

"  She  knows  us  all  just  as  we  are — you  and  me 
and  Purdy.  Yet  you  know  how  most  of  these 
good  religious  folks,  church  members  are.  Ten 
to  one  when  she  finds  out  that  I'm  on  the  stage 
she'll  fly  from  me  as  if  I  was  a  pariah."  Poor 
Rosie's  eyes  were  hot  with  tears  again.  It  seemed 
ridiculous  to  display  any  emotion  over  the  pros 
pective  loss  of  the  society  of  the  lugubrious,  im 
pecunious  Nufifer.  Yet  poverty  cherishes  its 
friends,  poor  and  humble  though  they  be. 

"  How  does  she  suppose  we  live  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Golden. 

"  Well,  she  knows  brother  sells  books  on  the 
trains  and  I  suppose  she  thinks  he  earns  enough  to 
support  us  all." 

"Poor,  dear  little  Purdy!  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Golden,  brimming  over  with  tenderness  now  for 


The  Young  Actress.  235 

her  absent  son,  "  he  hasn't  saved  enough  yet  to 
buy  himself  a  new  suit  which  he  needs  so  badly." 

"  I'm  trying  to  save  something  out  of  my  salary 
to  help  him  get  that ;  he  needs  it  to  be  presentable 
enough  to  go  on  the  trains.  He'll  be  in  at  noon 
to-day,  I  suppose  ;  won't  he,  mother  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  expect  him  then." 

"  Now,  mother,  be  sure  you  don't  let  him  know 
how  badly  I  feel  about  this  part ;  and  keep  him 
away  from  the  theatre  as  long  as  this  piece  is  run 
ning.  He'll  stay  with  you  if  you  tell  him  you 
need  him.  He  would  die  with  shame  to  see  me 
play  this  disgusting  thing.  It  galls  him  so  to 
think  I'm  on  the  stage,  anyway." 

"  Yes,  he  hates  it  as  much  as  you  do." 

"It  is  time  for  me  to  be  off,  now,"  said  Rosa 
lind,  laying  the  cap  and  apron  away  in  the  bureau- 
drawer. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Rosalind 
cautiously  opened  it. 

"Give  you  good-morrow,  fair  gentlewoman," 
cried  a  rich,  manly  voice  as  Rosie  opened  the  door 
and  disclosed  to  her  mother's  view  the  handsome 
face  and  form  of  a  young  man,  dressed  in  the 
height  of  fashion,  and  whose  elegant  appearance 
was  greatly  at  variance  with  the  poor  abode  in 
which  he  found  himself. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Perrin,  good-morning," 
said  the  invalid,  brightening  up  ;  "  won't  you  walk 
in?" 


236  A  Society  Comedy. 

"Thank  you,  not  this  morning.  I  am  on  my 
way  to  rehearsal,  now.  We  are  called  for  half-past 
ten  sharp — no  ten  minutes  grace.  I  called  here 
to  escort  Miss  Rosalind  to  the  theatre." 

"Thank  you.  I'll  be  ready  in  half  a  minute," 
said  Rosalind,  all  smiles  again.  After  a  minute  or 
two  devoted  to  her  toilet  in  the  inner  room,  she 
emerged,  kissed  her  mother  good-by,  and  in  com 
pany  with  Mortimer  Perrin,  widely  known  and  ad 
mired  as  the  fascinating  light  comedian  of  the 
West  End  Theatre,  she  made  her  way  to  that  tem 
ple  of  the  muses,  and  behind  its  dusky  scenes. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A   SOCIETY   COMEDY. 

ON  the  evening  of  this  day,  at  precisely  fifteen 
minutes  before  eight,  Major  Cheraw  drove  up  to 
the  door  of  the  Underhill  mansion  in  a  handsome 
hackney-coach.  Sending  his  name  to  the  ladies 
by  the  grinning  Jo,  the  major  entered  the  pleasant 
parlor,  and  occupied  himself  in  the  dexterous  busi 
ness  of  getting  a  snugly  fitting  glove  on  his  one 
hand. 

"  Let  me  button  it,  Major,"  cried  Fay,  tapping 
him  on  the  shoulder  with  her  fan  ;  and  turning,  the 


A  Society  Comedy.  237 

major  found  "himself  in  presence  of  Fay,  Cornelia, 
and  Mrs.  Underbill.     John  W.  was  not  going. 

"  I  shall  never  have  the  heart  to  undo  that  which 
your  fair  fingers  have  put  together,  Miss  Fay,"  said 
the  gallant  major,  bowing  profoundly  as  pretty 
Fay  buttoned  his  glove. 

"  Dear  me,  Major,  then  you'll  be  obliged  to 
sleep  in  your  glove,"  cried  Cornelia. 

"  I  think  we  are  ready  now,"  said  Mrs.  Under- 
hill ;  and  so  they  entered  the  coach  and  drove  to 
the  theatre. 

They  found  every  indication  of  a  great  crowd. 
A  long  line  of  men  stretched  from  the  box-office 
far  out  into  the  street ;  carriages  were  trundling 
up,  disgorging  their  loads,  and  rapidly  driving  off 
again  under  the  direction  of  policemen  ;  and  inside 
the  house,  the  pleasure-seekers  were  obliged  to 
move  a  step  at  a  time,  so  great  was  the  crush. 
Once  they  had  reached  their  roomy  box,  however, 
our  party  were  very  comfortable,  and  began  imme 
diately  to  scrutinize  the  assemblage,  in  search  of 
acquaintances. 

"  Is  not  that  Lord  de  Coram,  opposite?"  asked 
the  major,  standing  up  behind  the  ladies  and  using 
his  opera-glass. 

"  No,  it  cannot  be,"  said  Cornelia. 

"Why,  how  do  you  know,  Cornelia?"  asked 
Fay. 

"  Lord  de  Coram  is  in  Washington,  paying  his 
respects  to  the  President,  and  visiting  some  mem- 


238  A  Society  Comedy. 

bers  of  the  diplomatic  corps.  Can  you  conceive  it 
possible  that  Lord  de  Coram  should  be  in  New 
York  and  not  call  and  pay  his  respects  to  me  ?  " 

Fay  looked  at  her  beautiful  friend,  but  the  pearly 
cheek  of  Cornelia  was  an  unreadable  page.  All 
present  had  heard  the  rumors  of  the  engagement 
of  marriage  between  de  Coram  and  Cornelia ;  but 
Cornelia  had  made  no  confidences  on  this  subject, 
not  even  to  Fay. 

"Beautiful  audience!"  said  the  major,  as  the 
brilliant  crowd  of  a  first  night  settled  in  their  places, 
and  a  well-drilled  band  of  musicians  played  the  ex 
quisite  overture  to  "  Poet  and  Peasant." 

The  curtain  arose  on  a  magnificent  drawing- 
room,  and  the  action  of  the  play  began.  It  lay 
principally  in  the  hands  of  the  leading  man,  who 
was  rather  inclined  to  tear  a  passion  to  tatters  as 
an  injured  husband  ;  the  leading  lady,  a  fine  artist, 
superbly  costumed,  whose  intensely  sympathetic 
nature  enabled  her  to  play  upon  her  audience  as  a 
musician  plays  upon  his  instrument ;  a  thoroughly 
good  fellow,  rich,  lazy,  indolent,  harming  nobody, 
liked  by  all,  deliciously  personated  by  Mortimer 
Perrin  ;  and  an  insolent  and  almost  shabbily 
dressed  waiting-maid,  of  whom  we  have  already 
some  knowledge. 

"  Now  tiiere  is  somebody  we  know,"  exclaimed 
Fay,  cordially  bowing  her  head  toward  a  point  in 
the  orchestra  chairs,  during  the  first  enfracte. 
Cornelia  looked,  but  could  see  no  one  she  knew. 


A  Society  Comedy.  239 

"  It  was  that  pleasant  German  gentleman  Mr. 
Underbill  liked  so  much,  and  who  played  the 
piano  and  sang  so  delightfully  at  your  party,  Cor 
nelia,"  said  Mrs.  Underhill. 

"  Mr.  Kalbfleisch?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Kalbfleisch,"  said  Fay  ;  "  bright  and 
sunny  as  ever." 

"  I  wish  I  had  seen  him,"  said  Cornelia. 

There  was  a  low  rap  at  the  box  door,  and  the 
major  opened  it.  Mrs.  Underhill  arose  and  cor 
dially  greeting  the  new-comer  (who  was  no  other 
than  Hermann  himself),  presented  him  to  Major 
Cheraw,  to  whom  he  bowed,  and  at  once  flitted  to 
the  ladies,  as  a  butterfly  seeks  honey. 

"  Oh,  ladies,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  tink  so  much 
aboud  you  all  de  vile.  I  valk  in  Broadway  efery 
tay  and  tink  perhaps  I  meet  you  to-morrow." 

"  We  are  seldom  there  except  for  shopping," 
said  Fay,  "  and  even  then  we  don't  walk." 

"  Why  did  you  not  call  at  the  house,  Mr.  Kalb 
fleisch?"  asked  Mrs.  Underhill,  kindly.  "We 
should  have  been  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Oh,  tank  you/'  said  the  German,  his  pink  face 
flushing  deeply  with  pleasure;  "but  I  could  not 
take  so  much  liberties  ;  and  efery  tay  I  had  ought 
to  leafe  for  Chigago.  I  yoost  stay  to  hear  de  obera 
once,  den  I  go,  sure.  You  didn't  get  some  letters 
vrom  Miss  Pony,  did  you,  ladies  ?  " 

Neither  of  the  girls  had  heard  from  Pony,  who 
was  a  most  eccentric  correspondent — writing  once 


24-O  A  Society  Comedy. 

or  twice  a  year  at  most,  and  then  as  likely  as  not 
writing  twenty  pages. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  yoost  see  Miss  Pony  once," 
cried  Hermann  ;  but  meeting  the  cool  and  critical 
eyes  of  Major  Cheraw  he  restrained  his  tell-tale 
enthusiasm.  "  Mrs.  Underhill,"  he  continued,  ad 
dressing  himself  to  the  elderly  lady,  "  are  you 
going  to  hear  La  Pittaluga  ven  she  make  her  debut 
in  Trovator  next  Wednesday  ?  " 

"Yes, "said  Mrs.  Underhill.  "Girls,  I  forgot 
to  tell  you.  Mr.  Underhill  told  me  this  evening, 
just  as  I  was  leaving  the  house,  that  he  had  got 
one  of  the  stockholders'  boxes  for  Madame  Pitta- 
luga'sdfe&fc." 

"Oh,  how  nice!"  exclaimed  both  the  young 
ladies. 

"  Ladies,"  said  Hermann,  after  a  pause,  "  von't 
you  took  pity  on  a  poor  veller  dot  must  go  back 
putty  soon  next  week  to  Chigago,  and  write  Miss 
Pony  dot  she  come  over  for  La  Pittaluga's  debtit  ? 
Den  I  see  her  dere — at  obera.  Not  ?  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  state  of  this  case. 
The  young  German  was  deeply  in  love,  and  with 
their  little  scapegrace  friend. 

"That  might  be  managed,"  said  Fay.  "I'll 
write  to  her." 

"  Oh,  tank  you.  Now  I  must  go — the  next  act 
vill  begin." 

"  Come  and  see  us,  Mr.  Kalbfleisch,"  said  Mrs. 
Underhill. 


A  Society  Comedy.  241 

"  Mit  bleasure,  madam.  Ladies  !  "  and  Her 
mann  put  his  hat  in  front  of  his  breast  and  bowed 
to  them  ;  "  Major  !  "  another  bow  to  the  major; 
then  a  general  one  to  the  company,  and  Hermann 
returned  to  his  seat  in  the  stalls. 

A  beautiful  bosky  scene  of  park  and  river  view 
brought  forth  the  plaudits  of  the  audience,  as  the 
curtain  rose  for  the  second  act.  Then  followed  a 
scene  of  amusing  nonchalance,  played  to  perfection 
by  Mortimer  Perrin. 

"  Isn't  he  admirable — that  fellow?  "  exclaimed 
Cornelia  with  an  enthusiasm  rare  with  her. 

"  Deuced  good  form  for  an  actor,"  said  the 
major,  nodding  his  head  approvingly. 

The  plot  of  the  piece,  unpleasantly  suggestive 
from  the  first,  now  developed  into  such  undisguised 
immorality  that  Mrs.  Underhill  grew  very  uneasy, 
and  looked  at  her  watch  more  than  once. 

"Is  it  not  amazing,"  said  Fay,  whispering  in 
Cornelia's  ear,  "  that  a  pretty  and  modest-leoking 
girl  like  that  one  playing  the  waiting-maid  can  be 
so  shameless  as  to  enact  such  a  horrid  part  ?  " 

Just  then  came  the  famous  line  which  had  caused 
so  much  dispute. 

"  I  only  followed  the  example  of  my  betters." 

It  was  almost  inaudible  ;  but  the  leading  actor's 
great  speech  was  not.  Far  from  it :  he  raved 
and  stamped  and  tore  his  hair,  and  appealed 
to  the  audience  to  duly  execrate  the  vile  underling 
who  stood  before  them  in  white  cap  and  apron 
11 


242  A  Society  Comedy. 

trimmed  with  pink  satin  ribbons  ;  and  the  latter, 
obliged  to  scrupulously  perform  the  "business" 
set  down  for  her  at  rehearsal,  scowled  and  sneered 
and  tossed  her  head,  and  conducted  herself  gener 
ally  in  the  most  outrageous  manner.  Then  the 
curtain  fell,  and  in  answer  to  applause  the  leading 
man  came  out  and  bowed  his  thanks,  puffing  and 
blowing,  as  they  loudly  cheered  him.  Nobody 
paid  any  attention  to  the  waiting-maid. 

"  What  is  that  horrid  creature's  name  ?  "  asked 
Cornelia. 

"  The  man  or  the  girl  ?  " 

"The  girl." 

Then  they  picked  up  the  bill  and  read  together  : 

"Toinette,  a  waiting  maid — Miss  Rosalind  Gol 
den." 

"Major  Cheraw,"  said  Mrs.  Underhill,  rising, 
"  you'll  excuse  me  if  I  say  we've  had  enough  of 
this." 

"  Oh  certainly,"  said  the  major.  "This  piece 
is  a  bore." 

Mrs.  Underhill  took  the  major's  arm,  and  the 
girls  followed  close  behind.  When  they  descended 
to  the  lower  floor  Cornelia  felt  a  tight  grasp  on  her 
wrist,  and  looking  around,  saw  Fay's  face,  white  as 
a  ghost,  staring  straight  into  an  uncovered  private 
box,  whose  gaslights,  dimmed  as  they  were, 
nevertheless  revealed  the  presence  therein  of  Stuart 
Phelps  and  Mrs.  Duncan.  Mrs.  Underhill  saw 
him  too,  and  her  motherly  eyes  were  opened. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ENEMY   OR  FRIEND? 

QUESTIONED  lovingly  by  her  father  and  her 
mother,  all  poor  Fay  would  confess  was  that  there 
had  been  a  rupture  between  herself  and  Stuart, 
which  had  taken  place  soon  after  they  left  Long 
Branch.  What  Lord  de  Coram  had  divulged  to 
her  she  forbore  to  tell  her  parents.  She  loved 
Stuart  Phelps  too  dearly,  in  spite  of  all,  to  expose 
him  to  their  contempt. 

"  Poor  Stuart !  "  said  poorer  Fay,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  "he  is  more  sinned  against  than  sinning. 
That  dreadful  woman  from  California  has  stolen 
him  from  me — yes,  just  stolen  him." 

Mr.  John  W.  Underhill  had  some  tart  reply  on 
his  lips  concerning  the  absurdity  of  stealing  a  man 
in  this  way  unless  he  wished  to  be  stolen ;  but  see 
ing  plainly  that  this  bit  of  sarcasm  would  only 
wound  Fay,  an  innocent  darling,  who  was  really 
in  this  affair  all  sinned  against  and  not  in  the  least 
a  sinner,  he  forbore  to  utter  it.  But  he  kissed  the 
girl  tenderly,  wiped  away  her  tears  and  bestowed 
upon  her  some  such  profound  bit  of  parental  ad 
vice  as  "Never  mind!"  Then,  passing  into 


244  Enemy  or  Friend? 

another  room  under  pretence  of  getting  a  pair  of 
gloves,  he  whispered  in  his  wife's  ear  that  he  should 
take  the  liberty  of  calling  upon  Mr.  Stuart  Phelps 
this  very  morning,  and  see  about  this  thing. 

That  liberty  he  took.    That  thing  he  saw  about. 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough,  sir,"  said  John  W. , 
laying  aside  his  hat  in  Stuart's  office,  "  to  explain 
your  conduct  to  my  daughter  ?  " 

"With  pleasure,  Mr.  Underhill,  if  you  will  be 
good  enough  to  explain  your  daughter's  conduct 
to  me." 

"My  daughter,  sir,  has  done  nothing,"  cried 
Mr.  Underhill,  angrily. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  answered  Stuart. 
"  She  has  written  me  a  letter — when  we  had  parted 
the  best  of  friends — saying  that  everything  was 
over  between  us." 

"That  was  when  your  conduct  with  this  Cal 
ifornia  woman  had  become  shameless  in  the  ex 
treme,"  said  John  W.,  unwisely. 

Stuart's  blood  tingled  to  his  finger-tips.  "  Mr. 
Underhill,"  he  cried,  "I  have  not  only  your  age 
to  remember— I  have  the  memory  of  long  years 
of  friendship  with  you  and  your  family  to  look  back 
upon  ;  but  if  another  man  had  said  such  a  thing  as 
this  to  me  I  should  not  feel  the  least  scruple  in 
showing  him  the  door.  'This  California  woman,' 
as  you  insultingly  call  Mrs.  Duncan,  I  have  found 
to  be  an  extremely  ladylike  and  I  believe  an  inno 
cent  person  ;  my  conduct  towards  her — my  relations 


Enemy  or  Friend?  245 

with  her — are  as  irreproachable  as  they  are  with 
any  lady  I  know.  I  believe  her  to  be  a  most  per 
secuted  and  slandered  lady — and  the  only  reason 
for  it,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  is  that  she  is  beautiful 
and  attractive  and  all  the  other  women  are  jealous 
of  her." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  my  daughter  Fay 
would  stoop  to  being  jealous  of  such  a  person?  " 

"Why,  sir,"  answered  Stuart,  calmly,  "  if  that 
were  all  there  was  about  it  the  thing  would  be 
easily  settled.  Fay  might  very  naturally  and  with 
out  loss  of  dignity  be  jealous  of  Mrs.  Duncan, — or 
rather  of  me, — as  I  might  be,  and  have  been,  jeal 
ous  of  Fay ;  such  things  between  young  people 
who  are  engaged  are  common  enough,  I  suppose, 
and  easily  explained  away  ;  but  what  I  seriously 
object  to  in  this  business  is  that  there  has  been  a 
disposition  shown  to  lord  it  over  me  in  a  way  no 
man  of  spirit  could  stand.  I  will  not  be  driven 
nor  commanded,  but  I  am  open  to  reason  or  ex 
postulation,  or  coaxing." 

"None  of  which  you  will  get  from  me,  sir," 
testily  replied  Mr.  Underbill,  taking  his  hat  and 
his  departure. 

Now  the  truth  was  Stuart  Phelps  was  the  unhap- 
piest  person  concerned  in  the  imbroglio.  He  was 
no  more  in  love  with  Mrs.  Duncan  than  you  are, 
and  consequently  took  but  a  moderate  satisfaction 
in  her  company.  In  ordinary  circumstances  the 
acquaintance  between  them  would  have  been  suf- 


246  Enemy  or  Friend? 

fered  to  die  a  natural  and  easy  death ;  but  as  cir 
cumstances  now  were  it  had  become  almost  a 
point  of  honor  that  he  should  keep  up  the  acquaint 
ance — partly  out  of  that  pride  which  makes  a  man 
do  a  thing  which  others  choose  to  consider  wrong 
in  him,  simply  because  he  knows  he  is  right,  and 
means  to  show  that  he  is  his  own  master;  and 
partly  out  of  the  feeling  that  he  had  not  dealt  fairly 
by  Mrs.  Duncan,  that  she  had  been  wronged  and 
insulted,  first  by  himself  and  then  by  his  friends, 
and  now  he  was  going  to  stand  up  for  her.  This 
involved  going  to  theatres  with  her,  being  seen  in 
the  street  with  her,  and  in  fact  finally  assuming 
that  sort  of  an  attitude  towards  her  which  made 
his  young  men  acquaintances  understand  he  was 
Mrs.  Duncan's  friend  and  would  defend  her  reputa 
tion.  The  result  of  all  this  naturally  was,  that  Mrs. 
Duncan  was  gossiped  about  behind  Stuart's  back, 
and  it  generally  chanced  that  he  was  also  gossiped 
about  in  the  same  connection. 

All  this  made  its  impression  on  Stuart.  He  felt 
he  was  misjudged,  misunderstood,  his  motives  mis 
construed,  and  he  was  a  very  unhappy  young  man 
generally. 

A  most  disturbing  circumstance  connected  with 
the  business  was  that  Stuart  almost  daily  received 
anonymous  letters  relating  to  his  visits,  walks,  and 
general  acquaintanceship  with  Mrs.  Duncan.  These 
had  begun  to  arrive  the  very  first  day  after  he  met 
her  in  the  picture-gallery  and  walked  home  with 


Enemy  or  Friend?  247 

her.  They  were  written  in  a  large,  legible  hand 
writing,  evidently  that  of  a  business  man,  and,  be 
traying  no  signs  of  the  vulgar  ignorance  which  we 
are  accustomed  to  link  with  the  idea  of  anonymous 
letters,  informed  him  in  the  plainest  words  that  the 
California  widow  in  whom  he  was  taking  so  marked 
an  interest  was  a  person  unworthy  his  regard  and 
indeed  unfit  to  be  the  associate  of  any  one  who 
held  his  own  good  character  dear.  Believing  this 
to  be  but  another  of  the  many  arrows  of  persecution 
for  which  Mrs.  Duncan  seemed  to  be  the  target, 
and  on  the  general  principle  that  anonymous  letters 
are  unworthy  even  perusal,  Stuart  tried  to  ignore 
them.  But  the  strangest  thing  about  the  matter 
was  that  the  writer  seemed  to  know,  not  only 
everything  concerning  Mrs.  Duncan's  past  and 
present  movements,  but  every  movement  of  Stuart's 
in  relation  to  her.  Yesterday  he  sent  her  a  bou 
quet — that  was  known  ;  day  before  yesterday  he 
called  and  stayed  over  an  hour — the  very  minutes 
were  noted ;  indeed,  the  very  tenor  of  their  con 
versation,  if  not  correctly  reported,  was  pretty 
accurately  guessed  at  by  the  author  of  the  anony 
mous  missives. 

Stuart  was  puzzled  over  them,  every  time  one  of 
them  arrived — containing  as  they  did  references  to 
points  in  Mrs.  Duncan's  life  which  she  had  confided 
to  him  with  promises  of  secrecy  exacted ;  allusions 
to  her  husband,  and  to  different  law  cases  which 
had  brought  him  in  enormous  fees  ;  and  other  evi- 


248  Enemy  or  Friend? 

dences  of  life-long  knowledge  of  the  woman  who 
was  causing  them  all — the  writer  of  the  anonymous 
letters  included  his  mysterious  self  in  this  unhappy 
catalogue — so  much  trouble. 

On  the  day  Mr.  Underbill  had ' '  taken  the  liberty  " 
to  call  on  Stuart  to  "  see  about  that  thing,"  one  of 
the  anonymous  letters  had  arrived,  as  usual ;  for,  as 
has  been  said,  their  receipt  was  a  matter  of  almost 
daily  occurrence  now.  The  present  letter  was  not 
much  more  offensive,  not  any  more  mysterious 
than  the  others  ;  but  coupled  with  Mr.  Underbill's 
visit,  the  consciousness  that  he,  Stuart,  had  wid 
ened  the  breach  instead  of  narrowing  it,  ("Why 
didn't  I  cry  mea  culpa  at  once  to  the  old  man  ?  It 
could  never  have  hurt  me,"  soliloquized  Stuart) — 
the  writer's  words  pricked  like  a  javelin.  This  is 
the  way  it  read  : 

"You  will  go  into  Diana  Duncan's  presence 
again  to-day,  and  again  she  will  ply  you  with  words 
sweet  as  honey,  such  as  she  has  already  poured 
into  the  cars  of  a  man  who  loves  her  devotedly  and 
always  will.  You  are  watched  every  minute  ;  you 
needn't  be  too  sure  that  your  very  words  are  not 
heard.  Walls  are  thick,  to  be  sure,  and  the  hotel 
where  my  lady  stops  would  oust  suspicious-looking 
intruders  mighty  quickly ;  but  money  will  do  a 
great  deal,  and  with  negro  waiters  and  Irish  cham 
bermaids  often  accomplishes  wonders.  I  warn  you 
once  for  all  that  you'd  better  stop  calling  on  Mrs. 
Duncan.  Where  she  came  from,  pistols  were  made 


Enemy  or  Friend?  249 

to  shoot  with,  not  to  lie  in  velvet  cases  and  be 
looked  at ;  and  with  an  ounce  of  lead  under  your 
commanding  forehead,  I  don't  think  you'd  be  quite 
so  lively." 

There  was  something  exasperating  in  all  these 
anonymous  missives ;  but  this  was  the  first  time  the 
writer  had  menaced  violence,  and  Stuart's  blood 
boiled  at  the  idea  that  the  fellow  could  think  to 
frighten  him  with  such  cheap  threats.  As  soon  as 
he  was  free  to  leave  business  on  that  afternoon,  he 
jumped  into  a  stage  and  went  to  the  hotel. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Duncan  in?"  asked  he  of  Marcia,  who, 
according  to  her  usual  custom,  opened  the  door 
about  two  inches  when  there  was  a  knock  and 
peered  out  cautiously  through  her  spectacles. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she,  now  opening  the  door  wide 
enough  for  him  to  enter. 

"Tell  her  I'd  like  to  see  her,"  said  Stuart, 
throwing  himself  upon  a  sofa,  feeling  tired  and 
sick,  mind  and  body. 

Enter  Mrs.  Duncan ;  exit  Marcia  :  the  inevita 
ble  programme. 

When  the  widow  saw  Stuart  lying  on  the  sofa 
she  flew  to  his  side  and  placed  her  soft  hand  on  his 
forehead. 

"  Are  you  ill?  "she  inquired,  anxiously.  "What 
can  I  get  for  you  ?  " 

"Nothing,  thank  you,"  he  replied,  almost  sav 
agely  ;  "  no  wine,  nor  spirits,  not  even  as  medi 
cine." 

11* 


250  Enemy  or  Friend? 

"  It  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an 
adder,"  quoted  she,  in  a  facetious  tone  of  voice. 

"  That's  Gospel  truth,  if  any  ever  was,"  cried  he, 
sitting  bolt  upright.  Then  without  another  word 
he  placed  the  anonymous  letter  of  to-day  in  her 
hands. 

Mrs.  Duncan  read  the  letter  through,  and  then 
burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  Stuart  had  never  seen 
her  so  terribly  affected.  "  Oh,  oh,"  wept  she  ; 
and  through  her  tears  she  said,  "  this  is  what  I 
feared — just  what  I  feared  !  " 

"  More  persecution  ?  "  inquired  Stuart  in  a  tone 
which  would  have  been  satirical,  except  that  it  was 
rather  too  savage. 

"  Yes,  and  the  worst,  the  worst,"  said  Mrs. 
Duncan  ;  "  Stuart,  the  moment  has  come  when  I 
must  tell  you  all.  This  letter  is  from  the  hands  of 
my  most  relentless  enemy." 

"  What  a  number  of  them  you  have  !  "  observed 
Stuart,  grimly,  and  almost  wishing  he  was  num 
bered  with  them  instead  of  with  her  friends. 
"  And  what  is  the  name  of  the  most  relentless  ?  " 

Mrs.  Duncan  rose  to  her  feet,  and  pressed  her 
hand  hard  on  her  breast.  "  Oh,"  said  she,  "  I 
had  hoped  I  might  keep  this  at  least  from  you — 
but  I  see  it  is  my  lot  to  drink  the  bitter  cup  to  the 
dregs.  This  letter  is  in  the  same  handwriting  as 
letters  which  come  to  me  from  California — from  the 
man  who  persecutes  me  with  his  love  ;  and  seeks 
to  frighten  me  into  being  his  wife." 


Enemy  or  Friend?  251 

"  And  his  name  ?  " 

"  His  name  is  Buck  Williams,"  said  Mrs.  Dun 
can  in  a  tragic  tone. 

"Buck  Williams!"  repeated  Stuart,  "Jove! 
what  a  name  for  a  relentless  enemy  ! — sounds  like 
the  end  man  at  the  minstrels." 

"I  am  glad  it  amuses  you,"  said  she,  greatly 
piqued. 

"  If  you  think  getting  a  letter  like  that  with  my 
mail  every  morning  is  amusing,  you're  very  much 
mistaken,"  said  Stuart,  dolefully.  "  I  don't  like 
mysteries  and  imbroglios.  If  it  is  Mr.  Buck  Wil 
liams  who  writes  these  letters  to  me,  and  if  you 
are  in  correspondence  with  that  amiable  person, 
who  talks  about  putting  bullets  behind  my  fore 
head,  be  good  enough  to  tell  him  that  if  he  has 
any  rights  to  you  that  other  men  are  bound  to 
respect,  why  that  I  for  one  will  respect  them." 

"Oh,  Stuart!"  cried  the  widow,  "  how  dread 
ful  it  is  to  hear  you  talk  in  this  cynical  tone.  It  is 
not  like  you.  You  don't  mean  it,  Stuart.  /  cor 
respond  with  him  ?  I  hate  and  loathe  him.  I 
didn't  know  he  was  in  New  York  at  all — I  left  San 
Francisco  to  be  rid  of  him." 

"  What  is  he  ?     Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Stuart. 

"  He  is  a  man  who  has  followed  me  up  ever 
since  my  husband's  death,  pouring  his  love-story 
in  my  ears  till  he  has  almost  driven  me  wild.  I 
am  afraid  of  him.  He  is  a  desperate  character — a 
gambler,  and  oh  !  everything  that  is  bad." 


252  Enemy  or  Friend? 

"Drinks,  I  suppose?"  queried  Stuart,  with 
irony ;  but  to  this  Mrs.  Duncan  made  no  reply. 

"  I  don't  see  how  he  can  be  in  New  York,"  she 
went  on,  "  unless  he  has  just  arrived ;  for  I  got  a 
letter  from  him  from  San  Francisco  only  a  day  or 
two  ago — such  a  terrible  letter.  He  has  written 
me  just  the  same  kind  of  a  letter  every  month  since 
last  August,  when  I  went  to  Long  Branch — where 
I  met  you.  At  first  his  letters  only  made  me  in 
dignant  and  defiant,  but  lately  I  have  begun  to  feel 
afraid.  And  now  that  he  includes  you  in  his 
threats — oh,  what  have  I  done  to  be  so  perse 
cuted  ?  "  Here  the  widow  began  to  cry  again. 

"  I  care  nothing  for  his  threats,"  said  Stuart. 

"  Ah,  you  don't  know  him,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan, 
raising  her  head.  "  I  will  show  you  his  last  letter. 
I  have  opened  my  whole  heart  to  you  now,  and 
will  conceal  nothing,  however  galling  to  my  pride." 

She  produced  a  letter  from  her  pocket,  and 
Stuart  read  it. 

"  My  dear  Diana,"  it  began,  and  it  was  filled 
with  expressions  of  attachment,  couched  in  a  cu 
riously  expressive  language,  half  slang,  half  grim- 
death-like  earnestness.  And  it  concluded  in  these 
words  : 

"  I've  told  you  every  time  I've  written  to  you, 
and  now  I  tell  you  again — when  I  get  tired  or 
writing  to  you  I'm  going  after  you  to  fetch  you 
back.  You'll  come  back,  no  fear — because  I  want 
you.  And  then,  if  you  ever  leave  me  again, — fair 


Enemy  or  Friend?  253 

warning  ! — I'll  empty  my  Colt  into  you  as  sure  as 
my  name's  Buck  Williams." 

"Good  Heavens,  what  a  wretched  brute!" 
cried  Stuart,  when  he  had  read  this  passage. 

"  Can  you  wonder  now,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan, 
'*  that  I  am  unhappy  ?  " 

"I  wonder  you  don't  fly  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth,"  said  Stuart,  with  genuine  concern  for  her. 

"  He  would  follow  me  there,"  said  Mrs.  Dun 
can. 

Stuart  examined  the  letter  more  carefully,  and 
compared  the  handwriting  with  that  of  his  anony 
mous  correspondent.  Presently  he  said,  "  Mrs. 
Duncan,  I  am  something  of  an  expert  in  chirog- 
raphy,  and  it  is  my  opinion  that  Mr.  Buck  Wil 
liams  is  not  the  person  who  is  writing  anonymously 
to  me." 

"  Why,  to  me  the  handwriting  seems  exactly  the 
same." 

"  It  is  a  very  close  imitation,"  said  Stuart,  "  but 
it  is  not  the  same." 

Mrs.  Duncan  looked  frightened.  "  Then,"  said 
she,  "  I  can't  imagine  who  it  can  be." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE   WORLD   WITHIN   THE   WORLD. 

LA  PlTTALUGA  was  one  of  those  excellent  sing 
ers,  of  whom  Italy  is  full,  who  never  lack  for  an 
engagement,  and  are  now  at  Milan,  now  at  Flor 
ence,  and  even  sometimes  at  Paris  or  London,  but 
generally  in  these  two  great  capitals  merely  as  a 
singer  on  the  off-nights  of  some  great  diva  with 
whose  fame  the  world  is  ringing.  Her  voice  was 
pleasantly  mellow,  well-trained,  and  of  a  suffi 
ciently  extensive  range  to  enable  her  to  get  through 
the  stock  operatic  repertoire ;  its  chief  drawback 
was  a  tremolo  which  showed  itself  most  disagree 
ably  whenever  she  had  to  sustain  a  note,  and 
made  her,  as  Pony  Parsons  expressed  it,  "  too 
shaky." 

"  Pity  she  wobbles  so  on  the  long  notes,  isn't 
it?"  said  Pony  to  her  friends  when  the  curtain 
had  fallen  on  an  act  on  the  night  of  Madame  Pit- 
taluga's  debtit. 

"  Yas,"  said  Kalbfleisch,  who  heard  "  wobble  " 
for  the  first  time,  and  understanding  from  the  con 
nection  exactly  what  it  meant,  took  it  to  be  a  per 
fectly  legitimate  word,  "  dot  is  not  good,  to  vob- 
ble  in  de  Trovator" 


The  World  within  the  World.  255 

"  He,  he,  he!  "  giggled  Lord  de  Coram,  sitting 
on  his  leg  on  a  small  satin  divan  in  the  back  of  the 
roomy  box.  "By  Jove!  You  are  the  most  amus 
ing  fellow,  Kalbfleisch.  I'd  like  to  take  you  back 
to  London  as  a  natural  curiosity  ;  will  you  come  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  German,  laughingly ; 
"  cause  ven  ve  goes  to  de  Zoological  Gardens  and 
de  keeper  grab  hold  of  you  to  gif  you  to  Mr. 
Darwin,  den  your  mudder  she  be  mad  at  me  and 
she  say  to  me,  '  Hermann,  vy  didn't  you  took  bet 
ter  care  mine  little  boy  ven  yo'u  knows  he  can't 
took  care  himself  ? '  Not  ?  " 

"Bravo!"  cried  de  Coram,  gently  squeezing 
his  own  ankle,  and  rocking  himself  backwards  and 
forwards  by  this  means  in  a  pleasant  manner,  "  I 
like  chaff." 

"There's  the  curtain  going  up,"  said  Cornelia, 
taking  her  seat  again  beside  Fay  and  Mrs.  Under- 
hill  in  the  front  of  the  box. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  pay  any  attention  to  this," 
said  Major  Cheraw,  standing  behind  them  as 
usual,  and  holding  a  dainty  pearl  opera-glass  in 
his  well-gloved  hand  ;  "  this  is  only  a  male  chorus 
who  are  going  to  howl  at  us  for  ten  minutes  or  so 
— all  the  lager-bier  servers  in  town  en  conge  for  the 
night." 

"  Everybody  is  here,  Cornelia,"  whispered 
Fay,  looking  at  the  auditorium  through  her  opera- 
glass. 

"There's  Stuart  Phelps,"  said  Cornelia,  low  to 


256  The  World  within  the  World. 

her,  gazing  fixedly  in  a  directly  opposite  direction 
from  that  where  Stuart  was  sitting. 

"Yes,"  whispered  Fay,  "I  saw  him  as  soon  as 
we  came  in.  Wasn't  that  man  at  Long  Branch 
who  is  sitting  next  him  ?  His  face  is  familiar." 

It  was  N.  B.  Wiggins  of  Oshkosh,  who  chanced 
to  have  a  seat  next  Stuart's  in  the  parquet.  But 
Cornelia  did  not  remember  him  in  the  least. 

"There's  Mrs.  Barham — your  aunt,  Mr.  Kalb- 
fleisch,"  said  Fay. 

"  Yas,"  said  Hermann.  "I  sawed  her.  By 
und  by  ven  dot  act  don't  play,  I  go  over  dere  und 
tells  her  how  she  doos." 

And  when  the  act  drop  fell,  Hermann  bowed 
himself  out  and  went  over  to  speak  to  his  aunt, 
who,  dressed  in  a  fashion  which  would  have  been 
girlish  for  a  maiden  of  eighteen,  was  sitting  in  a 
box  in  company  with  five  persons  whom  she  had 
invited  to  accompany  her.  Two  of  these  were  a 
gentleman  and  his  wife  who  were  rich,  but  self 
confessedly  not  of  the  New  York  ton,  being  man 
ufacturers  out  of  Connecticut,  and  intensely  anxious 
to  get  into  society,  whither  they  imagined  the 
blue-blooded  Mrs.  Barham  could  transport  them 
at  her  pleasure.  The  remaining  three  were  a  cer 
tain  Mrs.  Drillmajee  and  her  two  marriageable 
daughters  whom  we  saw  at  Long  Branch,  whither 
they  had  gone  for  the  sixth  season,  only  to  return 
as  unmarried  as  before.  The  condition  of  these 
people  was  something  truly  pitiful — contemptibly 


The  World  within  the  World.  257 

pitiable.  They  were  in  fact  nothing  more  than 
beggars,  mulcting  hard-working  relations  for  the 
money  which  they  used  to  flaunt  such  finery  as 
they  could  lay  hands  on,  at  Long  Branch,  Sara 
toga,  or  in  Broadway ;  always  in  the  wild  hope  of 
marrying  off  one  or  both  of  two  exceedingly 
plain  and  unattractive  girls  to  rich  men  upon 
whose  shoulders  the  support  of  these  extravagant 
do-nothings  was  to  be  immediately  transferred. 
The  defunct  Drillmajee  had  been  in  fair  business 
in  New  York,  and  while  he  lived,  his  wife  and  two 
daughters  basked  in  the  sweet  idleness  for  which 
their  natures  seemed  so  eminently  fitted ;  they 
promenaded  Broadway  dressed  in  the  last 
"  agony  ;  "  they  gave  dreadful  parties  in  the  semi- 
fashionable  boarding-house  where  they  lived,  to 
which  they  invited  the  boarders  en  masse  and  such 
stray  outsiders  as  had  somehow  got  the  idea  that 
the  Drillmajees  were  "  somebodies  ;  "  they  walked 
in  a  mincing  way,  and  talked  in  a  drawling  way  ; 
and  fancied  themselves  altogether  of  a  superlative 
elegance.  They  never  read  a  book,  and  almost 
never  even  looked  at  a  newspaper,  unless  it  were 
to  gloat  over  some  fashions  account.  Being  ut 
terly  brainless  themselves,  they  took  refuge  for 
their  brainlessness  behind  a  giggling  supercilious 
ness  of  manner  toward  people  of  brains,  and  even 
went  so  far,  hollow  shams  that  they  were,  them 
selves  standing  on  the  thin  lava  crust  of  a  volcano 
bed  in  regard  to  money,  as  to  despise  people  who 


258  The  World  within  the  World. 

were  poor — while  the  very  servant  girl  who  made 
their  beds  for  them  was  richer  than  they,  because 
she  paid  her  debts.  The  only  deity  they  wor 
shipped  was  fashion — "  Sassi-ity,"  as  they  pro 
nounced  it,  with  a  drawl  on  the  long  i — and  its  at 
tendant,  dress  ;  and  to  try  to  converse  with  them 
upon  any  other  subject  was  as  futile  as  to  endeavor 
to  chat  with  a  Chinaman  on  the  workings  of  the 
electoral  college.  The  Drillmajees  are  personally 
of  no  account  whatever,  either  in  this  history  or 
elsewhere,  but  as  they  are  types  of  a  large  class 
of  useless  insects  who  flit  their  clumsy  wings  in 
the  butterfly  kingdom  of  New  York,  they  are  cu 
rious,  though  unpleasant,  as  studies.  When  feu 
Drillmajee  departed,  there  was  weeping  and  wail 
ing  and  gnashing  of  teeth  ;  not  exclusively  per 
formed  by  his  widow  and  daughters,  but  also  by 
indignant  tradespeople  to  whom  bills  were  owing, 
and  by  the  landlady  of  the  semi-fashionable 
boarding-house,  who  had  received  no  pay  from 
them  for  two  months.  They  had  not  money 
enough  to  bury  the  poor,  dead  creature,  who  had 
never  expected  to  die,  presumably,  as  he  had  made 
no  provision  for  that  event,  either  in  a  pecuniary 
or  spiritual  sense;  and  in  this  terrible  crisis  one  of 
the  man's  relations  came  from  the  country,  and 
buried  him  decently  and  gave  a  hundred  dollars 
to  the  widow. 

That  was  enough — in  the  sense  of  giving  Mrs. 
Drillmajee  a  hold  on  the  unfortunate  benefactor, 


The  World  within  the  World.  259 

though  very  far  from  enough  to  satisfy  her  wants 
and  demands.  From  that  moment  this  relation 
had  been  coaxed,  cajoled,  threatened,  frightened — • 
by  promises  of  suicide  and  other  desirable  catas 
trophes — into  letting  them  have  divers  sums  of 
money,  earned  in  a  rude  neighborhood  by  wear 
ing  toil,  saved  from  daily  necessities  by  biting 
economies — things  of  whose  existence  or  possi 
bility  these  three  shallow-pates  knew  nothing  and 
cared  less.  At  length  it  had  come  to  reproaches 
because  the  sums  were  so  small. 

"You  are  keeping  us  in  penury  /"  wrote  Mrs. 
Drillmajee. 

"  What  right  have  I  to  be  keeping  you  at  all?  " 
retorted  the  man. 

The  only  plan  now  was  to  delude  him  into  the 
belief,  that  one  of  the  girls  was  soon  to  be  married 
to  a  rich  man  who  would  assume  all  his  wife's 
debts,  among  which  these  "  borrowed  "  sums  were 
to  take  the  first  place.  This  was  really  a  tempting 
consideration  to  the  unfortunate  creditor ;  and  to 
bring  about  the  desirable  marriage  so  confidently 
spoken  of  by  Mrs.  Drillmajee,  he  again  began  to 
send  them  driblets  of  money,  which  they  received 
with  bitter  expletives  of  contempt,  very  unlike  the 
expressions  of  gratitude  with  which  they  be 
smeared  him  in  their  acknowledgments.  As  for  the 
promised  debt-liquidating  husband,  he  was  not 
visible  to  the  naked  eye  ;  but  of  course  the  man 
in  the  country  could  not  know  that. 


260  The  World  within  the  World. 

When  Hermann  entered  the  box  at  the  opera, 
to  which  they  had  been  invited  by  Mrs.  Barham 
on  the  occasion  of  Madame  Pittaluga's  de'bilt,  a 
certain  look  from  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Drillmajee  an 
nounced  to  the  attentive  daughters  that  this  was  a 
target  at  which  they  were  to  shoot.  Thus,  after 
Mrs.  Barham  had  greeted  her  well-dressed  and 
good-looking  nephew  with  much  cordiality,  and 
presented  him  to  the  Connecticut  man  and  his 
wife,  who  bowed  to  him  with  sufficient  cmprcssc- 
ment,  though  no  untoward  friendliness,  Mrs. 
Drillmajee  craned  her  neck  forward  and  stretching 
out  her  thin  hand  and  grasping  that  of  Hermann's 
gushed  forth  with  : — "  Now,  don't  introduce  your 
cJiawming  nephew  to  ^ts,  Mrs.  Barham !  The 
girls  and  I  know  him  well,  and  shall  never  forget 
him — don't  we,  girls  ?  Long  Branch  you  know — 
and  your  cJiawming  playing  and  singing.  Oh 
dear  !  we  were  perfectly  rawvee  by  it,  weren't  we, 
girls  ?  There's  nothing  they're  singing  here  to 
night  can  equal  it — not  even  the  Anvil  Chorus, 
which  is  my  particular  favorite — and  which  I  was 
per-fectly  carried  away  by  just  now — wasn't  I, 
girls  ?  "  To  all  which  queries  the  rather  mature 
girls  wagged  their  heads  and  smiled  and  almost 
stuck  their  tongues  out  at  the  astonished  Hermann, 
like  two  idiotic  tea-shop  mandarins  as  they  were. 

Hermann  smiled;  both  at  these  grimaces  of 
whose  import  he  was  entirely  ignorant,  and  at  the 
idea  of  any  one  liking  the  Anvil  Chorus  as  it  had 


The  World  within  the  World.  261 

been  sung  that  night  by  the  most  unmelodious  of 
untrained  voices,  roaring  away  in  false  time  with 
anvils  which  never  rung  a  true  note.  Encouraged 
by  his  smile,  Mrs.  Barham  chattered  on  : 

"  I  suppose  you  have  much  finer  opera  than  this 
in  Germany  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  smile  which  act 
ually  distorted  her  face,  so  forced  was  it. 

"  Yas,  much  better  ;  und  goot  deal  cheaper  dan 
dis  too,"  answered  Hermann. 

Mrs.  Barham  moved  uncomfortably  in  her  chair. 
Fearing  that  Hermann  might  say  something  which 
she  preferred  her  friends  should  not  hear,  she  tried 
to  make  the  current  of  conversation  flow  as  she 
desired  by  observing  : 

"  Oh,  the  seats  where  the  aristocracy  sit  are  just 
as  expensive  as  these,  in  proportion  to  the  scale 
of  prices  for  everything  there  ;  but  you  see  the 
Germans  are  a  music-loving  people,  and  so  there 
are  low-priced  seats  where  poor  people  go." 

"  Dat's  vere  I  always  vent,"  said  Hermann, 
laughing  and  nodding  cheerfully  across  the  house 
to  Pony  who  was  looking  at  him. 

Mrs.  Barham  whispered  in  Mrs.  Drillmajee's 
ear:  "Don't  be  astonished  at  anything  he  says; 
he's  very  eccentric — a  younger  son,  quarreled  with 
the  Baron  his  father,  came  to  this  country  and 
made  an  enormous  fortune  for  himself." 

"  Fortune  !  Indeed  !  He's  not  married,  is 
he  ?  "  inquired  the  mother  of  the  two  daughters, 
anxiously. 


262  The  World  within  the  World. 

"  Oh,  no,"  answered  Mrs.  Barham. 

This  was  enough — more  than  enough — for  Mrs. 
Drillmajee  ;  grasping  the  wrist  of  her  younger 
daughter,  she  hissed  in  her  ear : 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Julia,  do  talk  up  to  this 
man  !  What  do  you  mean  sitting  there  mum- 
chance  like  a  fool  ?  Be  lively  !  Don't  you  hear 
he's  rich  and  unmarried  !  Talk  up  to  him." 

Half  bewildered,  the  girl  cudgeled  her  poor 
brain  for  something  to  say,  and  then  with  a  sort  of 
ghastly  liveliness  she  intended  for  coquetry,  she 
gurgled  forth  the  words  : 

"Does  your  family  still  inhabit  its  ancient 
cawstle  on  the  Rhine,  Mr.  Kalbfleisch  ?  " 

This  was  the  signal  for  one  of  Hermann's  merry 
peals  of  silver  laughter. 

"  Oh,  no — mein  fader  was  very  poor  man  vat 
vorks  a  leetle  vineyard  on  dat  Rhine.  Now  he 
don't  vork  any  more,  nor  any  of  mein  family, 
'cause  I  make  money  in  de  pork-packing  beesiness 
in  Chicago,  und  I  yoost  send  dem  poor  folks  enough 
to  live  on." 

Mrs.  Barham's  face  was  as  red  as  a  poppy, 
and  her  nostrils  dilated  with  anger.  She  was 
furious  at  her  nephew  for  being  so  absurdly  frank 
before  these  people  who  had  been  so  impressed 
with  the  family  grandeur  through  her  long  and 
assiduous  endeavors.  Now  she  had  fallen  from 
her  high  estate  in  their  estimation.  She  fairly 
hated  Hermann  at  this  moment,  and  wished  him 


The  World  within  the  World.  263 

well  back  in  his  pork-packing  Chicago.  If  he  was 
going  to  behave  like  this  on  every  occasion,  how 
much  better  was  he  than  the  poor  emigrants  who 
came  over  in  the  steerage,  and  settled  on  Govern 
ment  lands  in  the  far  West  ? 

Hermann's  frankness  won  the  heart  of  the  Con 
necticut  man  at  a  single  stroke,  and  further  coquetry 
on  the  part  of  the  anxious  Drillmajee  spinsters  was 
effectually  prevented  by  the  two  men  engaging  in 
an  animated  conversation  relating  to  Chicago 
trade.  Presently  Hermann  took  his  leave,  and  as 
he  bowed  to  the  Drillmajee  trio  with  as  much  frig 
idity  as  his  warm  and  impulsive  nature  would  per 
mit  (for  their  manners  had  been  extremely  offensive 
to  him,  though  he  did  not  suspect  what  their  mo 
tives  might  be  for  showing  to  him — almost  an  utter 
stranger — so  much  of  that  which  the  French  call 
"effusion"),  the  marriageable  daughters  felt  that 
one  more  husband  had  slipped  through  their  fin 
gers,  and  that,  for  a  still  longer  period  they  must 
be  contented  to  be  kept  in  penury  by  the  unfor 
tunate  relation  who  fought  so  lustily  against  the 
necessity  for  keeping  them  at  all. 

While  these  episodes  were  passing  in  the  boxes, 
Stuart  Phelps  and  N.  B.  Wiggins,  finding  them 
selves  seated  side  by  side  in  the  parquet,  were  dis 
cussing  this  and  that  subject — Oshkosh,  opera,  pol 
itics — but    principally  the    merits    and    charms   of 
Madame  Pittaluga,  to  whose   success  they   were 
earnest   contributors,    vigorously   applauding  her 


264  The  World  within  the  World. 

arias  every  one,  Wiggins  stamping  with  his  boots 
on  the  floor,  in  a  manner  truly  alarming.  Thus 
outwardly  carried  away  with  enthusiasm,  it  was 
amusing  to  Stuart,  to  hear  Mr.  Wiggins's  private 
opinion  of  Italian  Opera. 

"The  durndest  caterwauling,  sir,"  said  Take 
Notice,  "  that  any  torn  fool  ever  set  down  to  listen 
to.  Folks  have  got  an  idea  it's  stylish  to  come 
here  and  perk  theirselves  up  before  a  lot  of  other 
folks,  and  clap  their  hands  ;  when  if  it  wasn't  some 
thing  that  was  the  cheese — fashionably  speaking — 
you  couldn't  hire  'em  to  show  their  noses  here.  I 
like  Pittylugy  fust  rate  ;  she  can  take  my  hat,  she 
can,  sir,  but  jest  because  she's  a  pretty  woman,  and 
a  nice  woman,  and  not  because  she  gets  up  there 
and  squalls  hog  Latin,  and  flams  herself  around  in 
to  the  arms  of  that  man  with  the  spangled  night 
gown  on.  I  was  always  dead  set  against  nonsense, 
and  to  come  here  and  listen  to  a  play  that's  squalled 
at  you  in  language  you  don't  understand,  jest  takes 
the  rag  off  the  bush  for  jackassiness,  according  to 
my  notion." 

They  waited,  nevertheless,  till  the  curtain  fell  on 
the  last  act  of  the  noisy  opera  ;  the  Underhill 
party  had  left  much  before  the  close,  and  as  Wig 
gins  and  Phelps  strolled  through  the  crowd  in  the 
lobbies,  Stuart  looked  into  the  weary  faces  of  those 
about  him,  and  wondered  how  many  had  really 
come  because  they  liked  it,  and  how  many  because 
it  was  "  the  cheese." 


The  IVorld  within  the  World.  265 

The  two  men  turned  into  Fourteenth  Street,  and 
directed  their  steps  toward  Broadway.  As  they 
passed  a  corner  of  a  cross  street,  they  saw  a  man 
leaning  heavily  against  the  iron-  gate  of  a  private 
residence,  his  clothing  in  so  dishevelled  a  condition 
that  it  seemed  flying  to  the  winds,  and  his  hat  roll 
ing  disconsolately  on  the  ground.  As  Wiggins 
and  Phelps  approached,  to  their  intense  astonish 
ment,  the  man  playfully  lifted  his  leg  as  a  bar  to 
their  passage,  which  member  N.  B.  Wiggins,  in  a 
far  less  playful  manner,  smote  smartly  with  his  um 
brella,  a  convenience  which  the  Oshkosh  lumber 
man  had  very  unfashionably  carried  to  the  opera. 
Nothing  wroth,  the  dishevelled  man  burst  into  a 
loud  laugh,  and  after  accosting  them  by  their 
names  added  in  a  shout  which  might  have  been 
heard  in  Fifth  Avenue  : 

"  Cullyses,  how's  your  nibbses  ?  " 

Before  he  had  given  utterance  to  his  pet  salutation, 
both  Wiggins  and  Phelps  had  recognized  in  the  de 
moralized  creature  before  them,  the  theatrical  spec 
ulator  Mr.  Tony  McDougall.  Before  they  had 
time  to  salute  him,  however,  Mr.  McDougall,  still 
in  a  voice  to  which  the  Anvil  Chorus  was  pianis 
simo,  inquired  peremptorily  of  them  if  they  were 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Tony  McDougall  ;  because  if 
they  were,  they  probably  knew  that  he  didn't 
amount  to  a  row  of  pins  ;  that  Madame  Pittaluga 
had  refused  to  travel  with  Tony  McDougall,  be 
cause  Metzerott  had  said  that  Tony  McDougall 
12 


266  The  World  within  the  World. 

didn't  amount  to  a  row  of  pins  ;  and  that  Metz- 
erott  having  said  that  Tony  McDougall  didn't 
amount  to  a  row  of  pins,  the  goose  of  Tony  Mc 
Dougall  might  be  said  to  be  cooked  ;  whereupon, 
seemingly  in  great  joy  at  the  achievement  of  this 
culinary  effort,  Mr.  Tony  McDougall  wrested  him 
self  away  from  the  iron  gate  as  if  it  were  holding 
him,  and  clasping  his  waist  with  one  hand,  and 
waving  the  other  above  his  head,  he  began  to 
dance  a  breakdown  in  the  centre  of  the  pavement, 
much  to  the  inconvenience  of  the  crowd  of  people 
from  the  opera. 

Laughing  heartily  at  the  absurd  spectacle,  Wig 
gins  lifted  Mr.  McDougall's  hat  from  the  ground, 
where  it  lay  battered  into  shapelessness  by  the  feet 
of  passers-by,  and  clapping  it  on  the  drunken 
man's  head,  led  him,  with  Stuart's  assistance,  into 
a  neighboring  lodging-house,  where,  after  paying 
for  his  bed  for  the  night,  they  left  him,  still  assert 
ing  in  a  confused  manner  to  no  one  in  particular, 
that  Tony  McDougall  didn't  amount  to  a  row  of 
pins,  and  that  the  goose  of  Tony  McDougall  was, 
therefore,  cooked. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

PONY'S   SURRENDER. 

MRS.  NUFFER  was  working  by  the  day  at  the 
Underhill  mansion.  What  with  Cornelia's  dress 
from  Canada,  and  odds  and  ends  for  Mrs.  Under 
hill,  and  this  and  that  for  Fay,  she  was  kept  busy 
for  many  days  ;  and  just  as  she  saw  her  work  draw 
ing  to  a  close,  Pony  arrived  from  Philadelphia  "  in 
rags,"  according  to  her  own  somewhat  startling 
announcement.  Mrs.  Nuffer  was  again  asked  to 
stay  on  by  the  day,  and  was  now  in  Pony's  em 
ploy. 

"  Now,  Nuffer,"  said  Pony,  using  a  familiar 
form  of  speech  to  the  old  woman  whom  she  had 
never  in  her  life  seen  before,  and  whom  Fay,  who 
had  known  her  for  years,  always  addressed  as 
"Mrs.";  "Nuffer,  whatever  you  do,  make  my 
harness  snug  !  " 

Mrs.  Nuffer  had  one  guiding  rule  in  dressmaking 
and  an  excellent  rule  it  was — always  to  make 
things  large  enough.  "  It  is  easier  to  take  in  than 
to  let  out,"  said  she  in  a  mournful  tone  as  if  she 
were  quoting  a  text.  True,  she  was  apt  to  carry 
her  idea  to  excess,  and  thus  to  cut  to  waste  much 


268  Pony's  Surrender. 

excellent  material ;  but  this  disaster,  such  as  it 
was,  had  never  been  alarming  enough  to  induce 
her  to  change  her  system.  "  I  cut  things  ample 
big,"  she  said,  "then  take  in  seams  as  necessary, 
here  a  little  and  there  a  little,  in  season  and  out 
of  season." 

On  the  day  following  the  evening  of  Madame 
Pittaluga's  de'btit,  Pony  expected  Hermann  Kalb- 
fleisch  to  call  upon  her  at  Fay  Underhill's.  Un 
fortunately  she  also  had  an  engagement  with  a 
photographer  which  it  was  necessary  she  should 
keep,  as  she  desired  that  one  of  the  imperial  cards, 
in  the  making  of  which  she  had  stood  blinking  at 
the  sun  till  she  was  moved  to  ask  the  artist  if  he 
hadn't  a  comfortable  pair  of  blinders  to  lend  her, 
should  accompany  a  certain  friend  to  his  pork- 
packing  haunts  in  Chicago.  In  this  strait  she  ran 
to  the  friendly  Nuffer  ;  Cornelia  and  Fay  had  gone 
driving  to  the  park,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Under- 
hill  and  Major  Cheraw,  and  Pony  by  her  own  re 
quest  was  left  at  home. 

"Nuffer,"  said  Pony,  getting  very  close  to  the 
old  woman's  side  and  looking  fixedly  in  her  tired 
eyes,  "  Nuffer,  did  you  ever  make  yourself  agree 
able  to  a  young  man  ?  " 

Mrs.  Nuffer  was  cutting  at  that  moment,  and 
cutting,  it  is  fair  to  presume,  "ample  big."  She 
paused  with  the  open  scissors  suspended  in  the 
air,  and  said  : 

"  Goodness  gracious  !  " 


Pony's  Surrender.  269 

"  Don't  swear,  Nuffer,"  said  Pony,  mischiev 
ously. 

"Swear!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Nuffer  in  horror. 
"  Did  I  swear  ?  Lord  have  mussy  on  me,  I  be 
lieve  I  did.  Let  your  conversation  be  yea,  yea, 
and  nay,  nay,"  continued  Mrs.  Nuffer,  closing  her 
scissors  with  a  snap. 

"All  right,  Nuff,"  said  Pony,  abbreviating  still 
further,  "anything  to  please  you;  but  what  I 
want  to  ask  you  is,  would  you  make  yourself 
agreeable  to  a  young  man  to  oblige  a  tortured 
Pony  who  can't  trot  in  two  roads  at  once,  and  is 
most  uncommonly  obfusticated  with  the  existing 
order  of  circumstances." 

"  If  you  mean  that  you  don't  know  which  of  two 
things  to  do,  then  I  say  go  and  read  your  Bible 
all  the  afternoon  and  fix  it  that  way,"  said  Mrs. 
Nuffer. 

"  What's  the  use  of  my  reading  the  Bible,  my 
pious  and  excellent  Nuffer,  when  I  already  know 
it  all  through  and  through  ?  "  coolly  answered  the 
mendacious  Pony. 

"  You  do  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Nuffer  in  very  natural 
surprise. 

"  Every  word,"  responded  Pony  ;  "  could  say  it 
backwards  with  my  eyes  shut  in  the  middle  of  the 
darkest  night  that  ever  blew." 

"  My  sakes  !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Nuffer  in  astonish 
ment ;  "I  wisht  I  could." 

"  Oh,  you  do  very  well,"  said  Pony  with  a  con- 


2/o  Pony's  Surrender. 

descending  nod,  "you  can  quote — ahem!  even 
better  than  I  can.  To  tell  the  truth  I  never  quote 
texts,  for  this  reason — that  if  I  once  got  going  I'd 
just  gallop  right  along  and  repeat  the  whole  Bible, 
and  that  might  not  be  pleasant  to — ah — worldly 
people  like" — the  witch  was  going  to  say  "Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Underbill,"  but  she  stopped  and  filled  in 
the  gap  with,  "  Major  Cheraw." 

"  It  wouldn't  hurt  him  none,"  said  Mrs.  Nuf- 
fer.  "  He's  got  to  go  one  of  these  days.  His 
arm's  gone  already." 

The  service  which  Pony  desired  Mrs.  Nuffer  to 
perform  was  simple  enough.  Though  Pony  hoped 
to  be  back  in  time  to  see  Kalbfleisch,  she  yet  feared 
the  possibility  of  being  detained  at  the  photog 
rapher's,  in  which  case  it  was  most  likely  that  Her 
mann  would  leave  his  card  and  depart,  thus  rob 
bing  her  of  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  for  that  day 
at  least.  As  she  knew  he  was  soon  to  leave  for 
Chicago — perhaps  on  the  morrow — this  was  some 
thing  not  to  be  thought  of;  so  she  desired  that 
Mrs.  Nuffer — everybody  else  being  absent — should 
keep  on  the  lookout  for  Hermann's  visit,  and  when 
he  arrived  should  descend  to  the  drawing-room, 
and  by  promises  of  Pony's  speedy  return  and 
other  agreeable  converse,  detain  him.  And  after 
some  persuasion,  this  Mrs.  Nuffer  consented  to  do. 

Kalbfleisch  arrived  in  due  course,  and  Pony  had 
not  returned.  Mrs.  Nuffer,  informed  by  a  servant 
with  the  characteristic  politeness  of  American 


Pony's  Surrender.  271 

domestics,  that  "that  Dutchy  was  downstairs," 
laid  aside  her  sewing,  arranged  her  neat  cap  a  bit, 
and  slipping  on  a  black-silk  apron,  walked  into  the 
parlor. 

Expecting  the  winsome  form  and  face  of  Pony, 
Hermann  was  somewhat  astonished  at  the  appari 
tion  of  respectable  shabbiness  which  appeared  in 
the  person  of  the  excellent  Mrs.  Nuffer  ;  but  he 
was  too  much  accustomed  to  poor  relations,  and 
too  kind-hearted  besides,  to  do  other  than  greet 
the  good  woman  with  the  same  distinguished 
politeness  he  would  have  shown  Mrs.  Underhill  or 
Cornelia  Cornwallis. 

Requesting  him  to  be  seated,  Mrs.  Nuffer  in 
formed  the  visitor  that  Miss  Parsons  was  out,  but 
would  soon  return,  and  that  she  desired  him  to 
wait  for  her.  This  Hermann  gladly  consented  to 
do  ;  and  began  in  his  accustomed  way  of  light  and 
generally  infectious  happiness  to  chat  with  his 
elderly  companion.  He  was  astonished,  indeed, 
at  the  gloomy  character  of  her  conversation  ;  sur 
prised  to  find  she  expected  rain  when  the  sun  was 
pouring  down  glory  in  such  streams  that  Hermann 
had  to  move  his  seat  to  escape  it ;  but  his  wonder 
was  beyond  words  when  the  good  woman  asked 
him  what  was  his  idea  of  the  great  plan  of  salva 
tion,  and  whether  he  had  yet  made  his  peace  with 
Heaven. 

"For  the  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,"  said 
Mrs.  Nuffer,  "  and  life  is  a  bubble." 


272  Pony's  Surrender. 

Just  then  Pony  appeared,  breathless — having 
been  told  by  a  servant  who  was  standing  on  the 
steps,  that  her  visitor  was  within.  She  heard  Mrs. 
Nuffer  talking,  and  catching  the  drift  of  her  dis 
course,  rushed  in  to  save  Hermann. 

"  Nuffer,"  said  she,  "  thanks,  gracious  Nuffer, 
that  will  do.  I  will  attend  to  this  young  man's  re 
generation  myself,  Nuffer.  Believe  me,  Nuffer, 
I  will  put  him  through  his  catechism  at  2. 30  speed. 
Goocl-by,  Nuffer." 

Nuffer  retired,  and  Hermann  caught  Pony  by 
both  her  tiny  hands,  and  with  a  sunny  smite  said  : 

"  So  you  go  avay  ven  I  come,  eh?  I  am  bad 
company  for  you.  Not  ?  " 

For  answer  Pony  drew  her  pictures  from  a  neat 
parcel.  "  This  is  why  I  was  not  here  to  meet 
you,"  she  said.  Hermann  was  delighted  with  the 
photographs. 

"  Ah,  dot  is  so  nice,  so  nice  !  "  he  cried,  enthu 
siastically. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  she  ;  "I  think  this 
off  eye  looks  rather  queer  ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"  No  ;  it  is  beautiful.  I  takes  it  mit  me  to  Chi- 
gago.  Not  ?  "  and  he  drew  her  on  to  the  sofa  be 
side  him. 

"  Yes,  if  you  like,"  she  said,  pleased  and  happy. 

"  Und  vot  else  I  takes  to  Chigago  ?  "  he  added, 
looking  deep  in  her  eyes. 

"Why,  I  don't  know,"  said  Pony,  strangely 
embarrassed,  for  her ;  "  your  trunk,  I  suppose." 


Pony's  Surrender.  273 

"  Ya-as,  but  vot  else  besides  my  tronk  ?  Can 
I  took  back  to  Chigago  a  promise  from  mein  leedle 
Pony  dat  she  be  so  goot  vor  to  marry  me  von  of 
dose  days,  und  be  mein  goot  little  frau,  und  love 
her  Hermann  vot  blay  some  music  for  her  efery 
tay,  und  sing  her  leedle  love  songs  in  Yarman  ven 
she  couldn't  understood  it  ?  " 

"  Why — I  declare — I — "  gasped  Pony. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  placing  his  arm  across  the 
back  of  the  sofa  and  gently  stroking  her  tumbled 
Byronic  locks,  "  you  can't  say  you  didn't  know  I 
love  you  well,  cause  mein  eyes  dey  haf  told  you  so 
long  ago.  Can  you  love  me,  Pony?  Will  you? 
Tole  me  once  !  " 

"  Oh,  Hermann  !  "  burst  out  the  little  girl,  put 
ting  her  tiny  hand  in  his  great  soft,  pink  palm ; 
"  I  think  a  heap  of  you." 

This  would  have  been  as  intelligible  as  Choctaw 
to  Hermann  if  it  had  not  been  accompanied  by  a 
look  and  gesture  that  would  have  made  Choctaw 
comprehensible  to  the  weakest  intellect. 

"  Mein  sweet  little  Pony  !  "  he  said,  drawing  her 
towards  him  with  his  strong  arm.  "  My  good  lee 
dle  vild  Pony  ! — Oh — I  bin  so  happy  !  "  and  in  the 
excess  of  his  joy,  he  bent  his  bright  face  clore  to  her 
little  dark  startled  one,  and  gave  her  a  loving  kiss. 

"  Mille pardons,  amis,"  said  Cornelia  Cornwal- 
lis,  who  had  entered  with  noise  enough,  though 
they  had  not  heard  her ;  and  she  swept  past  them 
in  a  stately  manner. 
12* 


274  Pony's  Surrender. 

"  Don't  prick  up  your  ears  and  get  vicious,  Cor 
nelia,"  cried  Pony,  running  after  her  and  drawing 
her  back.  "  I've  lassoed  him,  I  have ;  we're  going 
to  drive  double  team  hereafter." 

Cornelia  looked  inquiringly  at  Hermann,  who 
bowed  low  and  said  :  "  Ven  you  honors  us  mit 
your  gompany  to  our  vedding,  Miss  Gornwallis, 
den  ve  be  very  happy." 

Cornelia  shook  hands  with  them  both,  and  con 
gratulated  them ;  and  Hermann,  with  a  look  of 
transcendent  joy  on  his  expressive  countenance, 
went  to  the  piano  and  poured  out  the  Wedding 
March  with  a  color  and  a  jubilant  energy  that  would 
have  befitted  the  nuptials  of  a  king. 

Pony  did  not  fail  to  inform  Mrs.  Nuffer  that  she 
was  now  engaged  to  be  married  to  the  gentleman 
whom  she  (Mrs.  N.)  had  so  kindly  and  skillfully 
entertained  for  her  that  afternoon  ;  and  that  this 
was  an  additional  reason  why  her  harness  should 
fit  snug.  Mrs.  Nuffer  replied  that  they  might 
both  die  before  they  were  married,  and  that  in  any 
case  they  stood  little  chance  of  salvation,  she 
feared.  Meantime,  as  these  things  were  cut  out, 
she  would  go  on  making  them,  and  being  ample 
big,  they  could  be  taken  in  if  necessary. 

The  good  woman,  in  reality  much  interested  in 
the  fate  of  this  frolicsome  girl,  who  was  up  to  the 
most  unheard-of  pranks — trying  on  dresses  wrong 
side  out,  putting  the  left  sleeve  on  the  right  arm, 
and  things  of  a  similar  character — every  hour  in  the 


Pony's  Surrender.  275 

day,  worked  hard  and  long.  Nine  o'clock — ten 
o'clock  in  the  evening — and  still  she  stitched  ;  the 
family  and  guests  had  g.one  off  pleasuring  again. 
At  half-past  ten  Mrs.  Nuffer  folded  up  her  work 
.and  prepared  to  go  home. 

She  descended  to  the  lower  hall,  and  as  she  was 
about  to  open  the  front  door,  she  heard  the  click 
of  a  key  in  the  latch.  In  another  instant  Mr.  Un- 
derhill  opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 

Now  Mrs.  Nuffer  had  not  in  the  least  forgotten 
certain  remarks  which  had  been  made  by  her  floor- 
neighbor,  Mrs.  Golden,  regarding  John  W.  Under- 
hill  and  his  conduct  towards  an  unknown  but  evi 
dently  a  suffering  woman.  Mrs.  Nuffer  had  felt 
it  her  duty  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject  whenever 
she  found  the  opportunity.  This  was  the  very 
first  she  had  had,  the  last  she  might  ever  have  ;  so 
drawing  her  thin  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  as  an 
aid  to  her  courage,  she  looked  straight  in  the  rich 
man's  face  and  said  : 

"John  W.  Underbill,  do  you  think  you  have 
done  your  duty  towards  Helen  Wilson  ?  " 

John  W.  Underbill  turned  fairly  blue  under  the 
gaslight.  His  breath  came  in  short  gasps. 

"  Why — what  do  you  know  about — Helen  Wil 
son  ?  "  he  gurgled  forth. 

Mrs.  Nuffer  knew  in  reality  nothing  about  Helen 
Wilson.  All  she  could  say  was  that  she  knew  a 
woman  who  did ;  and  before  she  left  she  obtained 
a  promise  from  John  W.  Underhill  that  he  would 


276  Pony's  Surrender. 

see  this  woman  and  hear  what  she  had  to  tell  him 
about  Helen  Wilson. 

This  was  a  day  and  a  night  of  excitements  for 
Mrs.  Nuffer.  When  she  arrived  home  she  saw 
Rosalind  Golden  running  up  the  stairs  alone  in 
front  of  her.  Eleven  o'clock  at  night  !  What 
could  Rosalind  Golden  be  doing  out  at  night  at 
that  hour  ?  On  the  landing  Mrs.  Nuffer  turned  up 
the  gas,  which  was  flickering  feebly  for  the  benefit 
of  belated  tenants,  and  then  she  saw  Rosalind  with 
tired,  jaded  eyes,  and  some  hideous  paint  but  half 
washed  off  her  face,  standing  like  a  culprit  under 
her  scrutinizing  gaze. 

"Why,  Rosalind!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nuffer, 
"  What  on  earth  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Where 
hev  you  been  ?  What  hev  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  I've  come  from  the  theatre,  Mrs.  Nuffer,"  said 
poor  Rosie.  "  I've  been  going  to  tell  you  every 
day,  that  I  am  on  the  stage." 

"The  theatre!  On  the  stage!"  cried  Mrs. 
Nuffer  in  horror ;  then  lifting  her  hands,  she  ex 
claimed,  "The  Lord  have  mussy  on  you,  Rosalind 
Golden,  for  they  are  traps  to  the  unwary,  and  their 
feet  take  hold  on  hell  !  "  And  hurrying  into  her 
own  room,  the  horrified  Mrs.  Nuffer  locked  herself 
securely  in. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MRS.    NUFFER   ON   GUARD. 

MRS.  NUFFER  scarcely  slept  that  night.  Rosa 
lind  Golden  a  play-actress  !  She  could  hardly  be 
lieve  her  senses.  Mrs.  Nuffer  was  a  staunch 
believer  in  the  doctrine  that  the  pleasures  of  this 
wicked  world,  however  innocent  in  themselves,  are 
but  snares  for  the  sinner's  soul. 

"  I  never  indulge  in  the  pleasures  of  this  wicked 
world,"  said  Mrs.  Nuffer.  "We  are  not  here  for 
our  own  happiness,  but  to  do  what  good  we  can." 
Having  made  which  remark  Mrs.  Nuffer  would 
drink  her  tea  with  a  relish  that  it  did  a  carnal  crea 
ture's  heart  good  to  see. 

But  the  theatre  !  Mrs.  Nuffer  had  never  been 
inside  a  theatre  in  her  life,  never  read  a  play,  never 
knew — and  of  her  own  knowledge  never  saw — a 
player  before  now.  What  wild  imaginings  she  had 
hitherto  indulged  in  regard  to  the  personal  appear 
ance  of  this  race  she  would  have  found  it  difficult 
to  explain ;  if  they  were  naturally  endowed  with 
horns,  tails,  cloven  feet  and  pitchforks,  she  sup 
posed  they  managed  in  some  way  to  conceal  these 
demoniacal  appendages  while  moving  about  the 


278  Mrs.  Nuffer  on  G^^ard. 

streets  in  the  light  of  day  ;  aided  therein  by  their 
great  parent,  Satan,  much  could  be  accomplished  ; 
but  that  Rosalind  Golden,  the  girl  with  the  bright 
smile,  the  tender  daughter,  the  loving  sister,  the 
hard-working  household  drudge  of  two  rooms  and 
a  dark  closet  in  a  poor  house  in  a  cheap  avenue — 
that  she  should  belong  to  a  class  whose  members, 
one  and  all,  Mrs.  Nuffer  supposed  rioted  in  ill- 
gotten  gains,  and  led  lives  of  loose  and  insolent 
merriment,  seemed  very  strange.  One  thing  was 
plain — souls  were  to  be  saved  now,  if  ever,  and 
Mrs.  Nuffer  resolved  at  once  to  set  about  the  task. 

Crossing  the  landing-place  she  knocked  at  Rosa 
lind  Golden's  door.  In  an  instant  a  head  appeared 
— a  little  fair,  curly,  blonde  head,  set  on  the  body  of 
a  strongly-knit  though  small  boy  of  sixteen  ;  Purdy 
Golden,  the  train  newsboy,  the  prettiest  little  fel 
low,  the  most  amiable,  mischievous,  bright,  affec 
tionate,  tantalizing  child  that  the  warm-hearted  but 
lugubrious  Mrs.  Nuffer  had  ever  known. 

Pushing  past  him  without  a  word  Mrs.  Nuffer 
entered  the  room  and  shut  the  door  cautiously 
behind  her. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mrs.  Nuffer?"  asked 
Purdy.  "Robbers?" 

It  was  a  curious  fact  that  Mrs.  Nuffer,  who  had 
nothing  worth  the  robbing,  was  always  in  desper 
ate  fear  of  robbers. 

"  Only  robbers  of  the  soul,  Purdy,  only  robbers 
of  the  soul.  Where's  your  sister  ?  " 


Mrs.  Nuffcr  on  Guard.  279 

"  She's  in  the  other  room  with  mother,"  an 
swered  the  pretty  little  fellow.  "  Mother's  not  well 
this  morning  and  Rosie's  giving  her  her  breakfast 
in  bed." 

"  Oh  Purdy,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  unhappy 
Mrs.  Nuffer,  laying  her  thin  hand  on  Purdy's  shoul 
der,  while  her  dim  eyes  filled  with  tears,  "  only  to 
think  that  your  pore  sister  should  be  that  wicked 
thing,  a  play-actor  !  " 

"  If  you  mean  that  Rosie  is  wicked,  Mrs.  Nuffer," 
said  Purdy  stoutly,  "  you  tell  an  awful  story.  Yes, 
ma'am,"  as  Mrs.  Nuffer  shook  her  head  in  evident 
distress.  "But  that's  not  saying  that  I  don't  hate 
the  idea  of  Rosie's  being  on  the  stage.  I  despise 
the  stage,  and  I'm  going  to  work  night  and  day  so 
as  Rosie  can  stay  off  of  it.  Oh,  my  prospects  are 
very  bright,  Mrs.  Nuffer — I'm  doing  splendidly. 
I  sold  six  bound  books  yesterday,  besides  a  lot  o' 
papers,  and  my  profits  were  over  two  dollars. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  he  inquired,  proudly  ; 
"that's  promising  for  the  future,  ain't  it?  Yes, 
ma'am,  I'm  going  to  work  hard  and  take  Rosie  off 
the  stage."  Then  he  added  in  a  confidential  tone, 
"I'm  never  going  to  get  married,  Mrs.  Nuffer." 

"  Seems  to  me,  Purdy,"  said  Mrs.  Nuffer,  "  that 
you're  pretty  young  to  talk  of  such  things." 

"  Sixteen  last  June,"  said  Purdy.  "Not  so  very 
young.  I'm  small  of  my  age,  you  see.  I  wish  I 
was  bigger." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Nuffer,  "  don't  wish  anything 


2  So  Mrs.  Ntiffer  on  Guard. 

of  the  sort.  It  ain't  right.  Can  a  man  by  taking 
thought  add  one  cubic  to  his  stature  ?  That's 
Bible  truth,  Purdy." 

"  But  it  is  mean  to  think  that  all  the  trouble  is 
right  here  in  the  thigh — ain't  it,  now?  "  said  Purdy. 

"What's  wrong  with  your  thigh,  Purdy — I 
never  noticed  anything  out  o'  the  way  with  your 
thigh." 

"  Why,"  said  Purdy,  striking  his  breast  with  his 
dimpled  fists,  "  my  body  is  as  long  as  a  tall  boy's; 
so  is  my  leg  from  the  knee  to  the  ankle  ;  but  here's 
this  little  short  thigh,  and  that's  what  makes  me 
—at  sixteen — small  of  my  age.  I  sit  quite 
tall,  Mrs.  Nuffer,"  added  he,  running  his  fingers 
through  his  thick  curls,  and  straightening  himself 
up  in  his  chair  like  a  London  horse-guard,  or  a 
Christy's  minstrel  about  to  sing  a  pathetic  ballad. 

"  Well,  what  does  it  matter  ?  Long  thighs  and 
short  thighs  has  all  got  to  appear  at  the  day  of 
judgment  together." 

"Oh,  I'll  be  a  grown  man  long  before  that 
time,"  said  Purdy,  confidently.  "  But  the  thing 
that  annoys  me  so  much  now  is  that  being  sixteen 
— which  is  pretty  old,  you  know — and  yet  small 
of  my  age,  I  don't  know  whether  to  act  as  if  I  was 
a  young  man  or  an  old  boy." 

"Well,  you're  just  a  boy,  I  should  say,"  an 
swered  Nuffer,  rather  tartly,  "  and  will  be  for 
some  years  yet." 

"  Have  you  ever  noticed,  Mrs.  Nuffer,"  said  he, 


Mrs.  Nuffer  on  Guard.  281 

leaning  over  and  whispering  in  her  ear,  "  that  I'm 
getting  a  mushtache  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  she. 

"  Well,  now  you  just  look  with  your  spectacles 
and  you'll  see  something  on  my  upper  lip,"  he  re 
plied,  his  voice  quite  trembling  with  excitement. 
"  I  see  it  every  morning  in  the  glass  when  I  comb 
my  hair.  I  don't  say  I  see  a  mushtache,  Mrs. 
Nuffer,  not  a  real  mushtache,  that  there's  no  get 
ting  over  ;  but  I  do  say  that  I  see  something — a 
kind  of  a  shadow  on  my  upper  lip  when  I  turn 
sideways." 

Taking  her  spectacles  out  of  a  small  tin  coffin 
and  wiping  them  so  long  that  little  Purdy  fidgetted 
under  the  delay,  Mrs.  Nuffer  at  length  put  on  her 
aids  to  vision,  and  grasping  Purdy  by  the  ears, 
turned  his  face  to  the  light.  The  boy's  heart  flut 
tered  during  the  examination,  and  sank  like  lead 
at  the  result. 

"  Can't  see  a  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Nuffer,  taking 
off  her  specs  snappishly  and  burying  them  again  in 
the  tin  coffin. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Nuffer,  there  must  be  some  change 
in  me  ;  because  it's  scarcely  more  than  six  months 
ago  that  people  used  to  kiss  me — everybody  did, 
ladies  and  men  too,  and  even  little  girls  ;  and  often 
men  and  ladies  would  take  me  on  their  knees  and 
smooth  my  hair  and  curl  it  around  their  fingers  ; 
but  now,  ladies  that  used  to  do  that,  they  laugh 
and  say  '  He,  he,  he  !  why,  you're  getting  to  be 


282  Mrs.  Nuffcr  on  Guard. 

quite  a  man  !  '  You're  sure  the  mushtache  isn't 
coming,  Mrs.  Nuffer  ?  "  he  again  inquired,  gravely. 

"  Sure  as  that  the  Bible's  gospel  truth,"  said 
she. 

"Well,  I  shall  be  glad  when  I  am  a  man,  and  no 
mistake,"  said  Purdy.  "  I  shall  be  superintendent 
of  our  road  then." 

Our  road  !  Purdy  had  been  train-boy  on  the 
Hudson  River  Road  for  ten  days  ! 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  my  writing  to 
Horace  Greeley  for  his  autograph,  Mrs.  Nuffer  ?  " 
asked  Purdy. 

"No." 

"  Well,  I  wrote  to  him  twice.  I  thought  he'd 
have  more  respect  for  me  if  he  supposed  it  was 
a  man  writing,  so  I  sat  down  and  wrote  :  '  Mr. 
Greeley — Please  favor  the  undersigned  with  your 
autograph.  Yours  truly,  P.  Golden.'  He  didn't 
take  the  slightest  notice  of  it.  Then  Rosie  said 
perhaps  he'd  give  it  to  me  if  I  told  the  truth  as  to 
who  I  was.  So  I  sat  down  again  and  wrote  :  '  Mr. 
Greeley  :  Will  you  please  give  your  autograph  to 
a  little  boy  who  is  trying  to  make  a  collection  of 
the  autographs  of  the  distinguished  men  of  the 
age,  and  greatly  oblige  Purdy  Golden.'  I  got  it 
the  next  mail — or  at  least  I  suppose  it  was  his 
autograph — or  else  he  mashed  a  spider  on  the 
paper." 

"  Purdy,"  said  Rosalind,  looking  out  from  the 
inner  room,  "  it's  time  for  you  to  go." 


Mrs.  Nuffer  on  Guard.  283 

Purdy  snatched  his  cap  from  its  peg,  and  run 
ning  inside,  kissed  his  mother  so  loudly,  that  the 
noise  was  heard  in  the  next  room  ;  then,  after  re 
peating  the  performance  with  his  sister,  he  ran  to 
Mrs.  Nuffer,  and  made  as  if  he  would  kiss  her  ; 
but  instantly  darting  away,  the  rogue  burst  out 
with,  "  No  you  don't,  Mrs.  Nuffer  !  You  mustn't 
indulge  in  the  pleasures  of  this  wicked  world,  you 
know,"  and  left  the  room. 

Rosalind  came  and  sat  down,  looking  tired  and 
worn.  She  had  been  up  watching  with  her  inva 
lid  mother  most  of  the  night,  and  the  bright  smile 
was  dimmed.  Seating  herself  by  the  window,  she 
picked  up  a  stocking  and  began  wearily  to  darn  its 
gaping  rents.  Mrs.  Nuffer  sat  motionless  opposite 
her,  considering  which  might  be  the  best  way  to 
open  fire  in  the  momentous  matter. 

"Rosalind,"  said  the  good  woman  at  length, 
"  if  you  was  my  own  daughter  I  couldn't  feel  wuss 
about  your  soul  than  I  do  now.  Oh,  sister,  how 
ken  you  be  so  cool  and  collected  when  the  aveng 
ing  Lord  is  nigh  ?  " 

Rosalind  did  not  answer  ;  but  the  knit  brow  and 
the  mobile  lips  betrayed  the  active  thought  which 
was  going  on  in  the  girl's  brain. 

Mrs.  Nuffer  would  have  preferred  a  retort ;  she 
liked  to  do  the  Lord's  work,  but  it  was  difficult  to 
proceed  in  it  when  there  was  neither  submission 
nor  defiance. 

"  Rosalind   Golden,  you  look  this  morning  real 


284  Mrs.  Nuffer  on  Guard. 

hardened,  you  pore  child  !  I  feel  not  half  strong 
enough  to  say  to  you  what  I  ought.  I  have  a 
good  mind  to  go  and  get  our  minister  to  come 
pray  for  you.  Rosalind,  do  you  never  read  the 
Bible,  nor  think  of  your  God  ?  " 

Rosalind  quietly  laid  down  her  work  and  an 
swered  : 

"  Mrs.  Nuffer,  I  read  in  my  Bible  daily,  and 
God  is  very  rarely  out  of  my  mind.  If  He  were 
not  there — if  I  had  not  an  abiding  faith  in  His 
goodness — I  should  not  be  sitting  here  now,  but 
should  be  lying  dead  and  cold  in  that  river  which 
rolls  on  there,  a  couple  of  blocks  away.  My  life 
is  a  dark  and  dreary  one ;  toil,  drudgery,  pain, 
and  humiliation  my  daily  portion  ;  but  I  believe 
that  God  knows  my  sufferings  and  will  repay  me 
for  them." 

"Do  you  suppose  God  will  not  punish  you  for 
being  a  play-actress,  Rosalind  ?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  He  will  punish  you  for  being 
a  dressmaker,  Mrs.  Nuffer  ?  " 

"Well,  I  declare!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Nuffer; 
"it's  no  sin  to  be  a  dressmaker,  that  ever  I  heard  ! " 

"  It  is  no  sin  to  be  an  honest  dressmaker,  as  you 
are.  It  is  no  sin  to  be  an  honest  actress,  as  I  am. 
If  you  cheat,  steal,  or  lie  in  your  profession  of 
dressmaking,  God  will  punish  you.  If  I  commit 
those  sins,  or  others  in  my  profession  of  actress, 
God  will  punish  me.  But  that  He  will  punish  me 
for  doing  my  duty,  I  cannot  insult  my  intelligence 


Mrs.  Nuffer  on  Guard.  285 

by  believing.  I  do  not  follow  the  stage  because  I 
love  it,  but  because  it  is  a  means  of  livelihood. 
Let  me  leave  the  stage,  and  who  is  to  put  bread  in 
the  mouth  of  my  paralyzed  mother  ?  "  asked  Ros 
alind  in  an  agitated  voice,  but  knowing  that  her 
mother  was  asleep,  and  could  not  hear  her. 

"  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want," 
said  Mrs.  Nuffer.  "  He  will  provide." 

"  Yes  ;  He  provides  for  me  this  path,  by  walk 
ing  dutifully  in  which  I  can  support  my  mother." 

"And  what  is  your  lookout  for  your  own  future, 
Rosalind  ?  What  is  your  hope  of  an  eternal  life  ? 
Are  you  not  afraid  to  die  ?  " 

"  In  the  sense  that  I  am  a  sinner,  yes,"  said 
Rosalind  ;  "in  the  sense  that  I  am  an  actress,  no 
— no  more  than  if  I  were  a  shoe-binder.  I  love 
God,  fear  Him,  and  try  to  be  a  good  girl,  and  this 
being  the  case,  I  believe  my  chance  for  salvation 
as  good  as  if  I  had  gone  every  Sunday  for  the  last 
ten  years  and  listened  to  the  Reverend  Snooks, 
who  would  be  horrified  if  he  knew  I  was  an  actress, 
while  he  pets  married  ladies  of  his  congregation 
who  come  to  our  theatre  once  or  twice  a  week,  and 
sit  in  dark  corners  of  private  boxes,  and  whisper 
behind  their  fans  with  young  gallants  who  feed 
them  bon-bons,  and  make  an  exchange  of  button 
hole  bouquets  with  them  in  their  flirting  conversa 
tions." 

Mrs.  Nuffer  was  indescribably  horrified  at  this, 
but  the  clock  at  this  moment  striking1  ten,  she 


286  Mrs.  Nuffer  on  Guard. 

arose  in  great  haste.  "That  little  Pony  will  be 
mad,"  she  said.  "But  before  I  go,  Rosalind,  I 
must  tell  your  mother  that  I  spoke  to  John  W. 
Underhill  about  Helen  Wilson." 

"  Indeed  !  " 

"Yes — and  he  promised  to  come  here  and  see 
your  mother  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon." 

"  I  will  tell  mother  when  she  wakes." 

"Well,  the  Lord's  blessings  on  you,  child,  and 
may  He  lead  us  all  in  the  right  path." 

"Amen  !  "  said  Rosalind. 

At  four  o'clock  John  W.  Underhill  came.  He 
found  the  paralyzed  woman  alone,  Rosalind  having 
retired  to  the  sleeping-room,  not  caring  to  hear 
any  details  of  a  story  she  knew  to  be  a  painful  one, 
yet  keeping  within  call,  in  case  her  mother  should 
require  her  services ;  and  for  more  than  an  hour, 
the  rich  man  and  the  decayed  actress  raked  over 
the  ashes  of  a  dead  past. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

WOMAN  AGAINST  WOMAN. 

IN  the  pretty  parlor  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel, 
that  looked  through  its  lace  curtains  on  the  Park, 
the  woman  Marcia  sat  at  a  writing-table  thoroughly 
engrossed  in  the  construction  of  a  letter  to  which 
she  gave  an  extreme  care,  not  only  in  respect  to  its 
phraseology,  but  also  to  its  chirography,  which  she 
labored  to  make  large  and  round  as  that  of  a  man. 

With  her  spectacles  laid  aside,  and  her  face 
flushed  with  excitement,  an  observer  of  clear 
vision  might  have  seen  that  in  her  youth  this 
pitted  Marcia  had  been  an  attractive  if  not  a 
beautiful  woman.  That  she  was  intelligent,  well- 
educated,  one  saw  even  now — even  her  employer, 
Mrs.  Duncan,  not  any  too  prone  to  recognize  ex 
cellence  in  her  servant,  saw  this  ;  and  there  were 
moments  when  the  handsome  widow  wondered 
how  it  was  that  so  accomplished  a  woman  should 
content  herself  with  a  menial  situation,  scarcely 
more  than  that  of  lady's  maid,  when  she  was  per 
fectly  qualified  to  fill  that  of  a  teacher,  book 
keeper,  or  other  person  of  trust  and  responsibility. 

But  positions  of  this  sort  Mrs.   Duncan  knew 


288  Woman  against  Woman. 

were  not  to  be  had  for  the  wishing,  and  she  had 
met  with  too  many  vicissitudes  herself  to  be  long 
astonished  at  anything  of  this  kind. 

Marcia  wrote  on,  forming  every  stroke  of  every 
letter  with  as  much  care  as  if  she  were  committing 
a  forgery;  her  whole  being,  eyes,  ears,  heart, 
mind,  seemed  absorbed  in  the  work  ;  and  like  a 
woman  waking  from  a  dream  she  stood,  as — the 
letter  snatched  from  her  hand — she  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  Mrs.  Duncan,  whose  eyes  flashed 
fire  and  fury,  and  whose  white  lips  quivered  with 
rage.  "So — you  wretch!"  she  hissed  out  be 
tween  her  closed  teeth,  "  it's  you  who  have  been 
sending  Stuart  Phelps  these  anonymous  letters,  is 
it  ?  YOU  !  " 

Poor,  convicted  Marcia  !  She  had  thought  Mrs. 
Duncan  gone  for  the  day,  and  that  the  door  was 
locked.  The  old  story  !  Murder  will  out.  No 
help  for  it  now.  She  was  discovered. 

"You  vile  creature!"  almost  screamed  Mrs. 
Duncan,  shaking  the  letter  in  her  face,  "I  have 
wondered  who  on  earth  this  snake-like  enemy 
could  be,  trying  to  injure  me  with  the  only  man  I 
ever  loved — " 

"The  only  man  you  ever  loved!"  cried  the 
mute  Marcia,  who  had  found  her  tongue  at  last. 
"Oh,  you  wicked  woman!  Did  you  not  love 
Richard  Duncan  fifteen  years  ago  ?  or  did  you  lie 
when  you  swore  to  him  you  loved  him  ?  After  he 
had  lured  me  from  my  husband  and  child,  did  you 


Woman  against  Woman.  289 

not  steal  him  from  me  as  you  are  now  stealing  this 
young  man  Phelps  from  the  innocent  girl  to  whom 
he  was  engaged  to  be  married  ?  I  know  you." 

"  You  were  the  woman  Richard  Duncan  was 
with  when  I  first  met  him  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Dun 
can  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Marcia,  "  the  same.  Oh,  you 
find  me  greatly  changed,  no  doubt.  Time, 
trouble,  remorse,  poverty,  the  small-pox,  aided  by 
a  pair  of  spectacles  to  complete  the  disguise — why, 
my  own  brother — if  I  had  one — would  not  know 
me.  But  I  knew  you — have  never  lost  sight  of 
you  since  you  took  Duncan  from  me.  Now  Dun 
can  is  dead — he  was  shot — you  didn't  tell  this 
young  Phelps  that.  Who  shot  him  ? — was  it 
you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Duncan  recoiled  as  this  irate  woman  fol 
lowed  her  up  step  by  step  with  her  terrible  ques 
tionings. 

"  I  shoot  him  !  "  she  whispered,  "  of  course  not. 
No  one  ever  accused  me  of  such  a  thing." 

"Then  it  was  this  man  Williams,  who  is  also  in 
fatuated  with  you,  and  whom  you  have  also  told 
that  he  is  the  only  man  you  ever  loved." 

"  No,  no.  Williams  was  never  accused.  Mr. 
Duncan  committed  suicide  ;  the  coroner  said  so." 

"Yes,  I  heard  that.     We  know  how  such  things 

are  dealt  with  in  California.      No  matter.      Richard 

Duncan  has  answered  before  his  Maker  for  his  sins 

towards  me.     My  duty  in  life  now  is  to  atone  for 

13 


290  Woman  against  Woman. 

my  own  sins,  and  to  foil  your  further  plans  of 
wickedness." 

"  Leave  this  place  this  instant  !  Pack  your 
things  and  go." 

"They  have  been  packed  some  time.  I  shall  go 
at  once,  of  course.  This  would  be  the  last  place 
for  me  to  stay  and  work  against  your  wickedness, 
now  you  have  discovered  me.  But  I  can  work  at 
a  distance  even  better  than  here.  Remember 
that." 

In  ten  minutes  she  was  gone,  and  each  knew 
that  she  had  in  the  other  as  deadly  an  enemy  as 
ever  breathed  on  earth.  Mrs.  Duncan  was  fully 
an  hour  quieting  her  agitation.  Then  she  went 
downstairs  into  the  grand  parlors  and  looked  at 
the  brilliant  groups,  ladies,  gentlemen,  and  chil 
dren,  who  if  they  had  their  agitations  and  excite 
ments  certainly  did  not  show  any  signs  of  these 
feelings  now — but  then  no  more  did  Mrs.  Duncan. 
Who  in  all  those  vast  rooms  looked  more  peaceful, 
more  unruffled,  more  gracious,  more  smiling  than 
she  ?  She  had  amused  herself  by  making  another 
toilet  since  Marcia's  departure,  and  was  now  gor 
geous  in  some  rich,  light  silk,  an  elegant  chez  soi 
attire,  her  hair  coiled  in  thick  masses  about  her 
well-formed  head,  her  fine  complexion,  a  trifle  sus 
picious  in  its  pinkness  and  its  whiteness,  admirably 
softened  by  the  frills  of  lace  which  encircled  her 
throat.  While  she  was  there  Stuart  Phelps's  card 
was  brought  her,  and  greeting  him  with  cordiality 


Woman  against  Woman.  291 

in  the  grand  corridor  she  invited  him  to  her  private 
parlor. 

Then  such  a  story  as  this  wily  tongue  had  to  tell 
about  Marcia  !  Stuart  was  horrified. 

"  Oh  yes,  dear  friend,"  said  the  widow,  "  there's 
no  doubt  about  it— she  was  in  Buck  Williams's  em 
ploy.  The  sly  creature  as  good  as  confessed  it. 
I  wonder  we  never  suspected  her." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Stuart.  "I've  often  thought 
it  strange  that  a  woman  of  so  superior  a  sort  should 
have  been  acting  as  your  servant." 

"  All  part  of  a  plan — a  deep-laid  plan  to  perse 
cute  and  torture  me.  Did  you  ever  know  a  creat 
ure  so  persecuted  as  I  ? "  said  she,  turning  her 
violet  eyes  appealingly  upon  his  face. 

Stuart  certainly  thought  her  very  much  perse 
cuted — and  uncommonly  pretty. 

Just  then  a  knock  at  the  door  was  heard. 
"  Come  in,"  cried  Mrs.  Duncan,  and  to  the  amaze 
ment  of  both,  John  W.  Underhill  stood  on  the 
threshold.  He  bowed  to  Mrs.  Duncan,  and  turned 
his  back  on  Stuart. 

"  Excuse  my  coming  to  your  door,  madam," 
he  said,  "  the  servant  showed  me  here.  My  ob 
ject  in  calling  is  to  ask  you  if  you  would  be  good 
enough  to  allow  me  to  speak  with  a  person  in  your 
employ,  who  is  known  as  Marcia." 

"  I  have  discharged  the  woman,  sir,"  said  Mrs. 
Duncan,  coldly.  "  I  found  her  to  be  an  unworthy 
person,  and  I  felt  myself  obliged  to  dismiss  her." 


292  Woman  against  Woman. 

Mr.  Underbill's  face  fell.  This  was  a  disap 
pointment  indeed  ;  and  a  grief  also. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  she  can  be  found  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  No,  sir.  I  take  no  interest  in  her  whatever, 
as  I  know  her  to  be  a  very  wicked  person." 

Mr.  Undcrhill  bit  his  lip,  bowed  to  the  widow 
and  withdrew. 

When  he  returned  home  he  told  his  family  what 
had  happened.  He  had  gone  to  Mrs.  Duncan's 
on  an  errand  of  mercy  to  see  her  servant,  Marcia — 
he  did  not  explain  to  Fay  what  he  wanted  of  Mar 
cia,  and  Mrs.  Underhill  knew  without  explanation 
— and  there  he  had  seen  Stuart  Phelps  again. 

Fay  felt  as  if  the  events  of  a  few  weeks  had  aged 
her  ten  years.  She  was  alone  again  now.  Cor 
nelia  and  Pony  had  returned  to  Philadelphia.  The 
former  had  rejected  Lord  de  Coram's  offer  of  mar 
riage,  and  the  latter  was  wild  with  joy  at  the  pros 
pect  of  her  approaching  nuptials  with  Hermann 
Kalbfleisch,  which  had  been  set  for  an  early  date, 
the  eminent  jurist,  Pony's  father,  having  been  un 
able  to  find  speck  or  flaw  in  the  honest  testimony 
from  all  sorts  of  witnesses  in  regard  to  the  upright 
character  of  the  young  German. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
LITTLE  PURDY'S  FRIEND. 

ON  a  railway  train  whose  locomotive  sniffed  the 
air  of  the  East  as  if  it,  like  the  rest  of  the  Western 
world,  felt  a  new  inspiration  as  it  drew  nearer  and 
nearer  to  New  York,  a  man  sat  in  a  luxurious 
palace  car,  looked  contemptuously  at  the  Hudson 
river,  and  put  his  feet  up  on  the  velvet  cushions  of 
the  seat  opposite. 

He  was  a  through  passenger  from  San  Francisco. 
Day  and  night  for  a  week  he  had  traveled ;  three 
thousand  miles  without  an  hour's  pause.  Well, 
'tis  an  old  story  now — let's  have  no  raptures  of 
surprise.  And  yet  it  is  a  marvelous  tale  this  man 
could  tell  !  Only  a  week  ago,  he  left  San  Fran 
cisco,  with  its  crowds  of  chattering  Chinese,  whirled 
for  a  few  hours  through  the  balmy  air  of  Decem 
ber  in  California  ;  then  amid  Arctic  snows,  belting 
Sierras,  looked  down  into  abysmal  valleys  glowing 
with  beauty,  with  shining  waterfalls  and  ribbon- 
like  rivers  ;  and  whirling  on,  gazed  with  tired  eyes 
out  upon  a  sandy  desert,  Indians,  soldiers'  camps, 
prairie-dogs,  in  their  little  sand  houses,  coyotes  trail 
ing  their  lank  limbs  through  sand,  more  and  more 


294  Little  Purdfs  Friend. 

sand,  sage-brush  and  sand.  On  and  on,  through 
huge  drifts  of  snow,  over  wide  reaches  of  windy  plain, 
and  at  last  the  muddy  river  on  whose  bank  sits  Omaha 
— the  first  place  that  looks  like  a  town,  since  Sacra 
mento  was  left  behind.  Through  rich  and  rolling- 
prairied  Iowa,  across  bridges,  through  towns 
teeming  with  life — and  five  hundred  miles  before 
arriving  at  it  the  wondrous  energy  of  Chicago 
tinges  everything.  Chicago  merchants  advertise — 
Chicago  newspapers  flood  the  trains ;  what  are 
they  doing  in  Chicago  ?  what  is  the  weather  at 
Chicago  ?  what  is  the  state  of  trade  in  Chicago  ? — 
these  are  the  current  questions  which  fill  the  air. 
Chicago  seems  the  central  point  of  the  universe. 
Other  trains  connect  with  this  at  junctions,  all 
crowded  with  people  bound  for  Chicago — striving 
more  eagerly  to  get  to  Chicago  than  they  are  to 
reach  heaven.  And  here  it  is  at  last — not  heaven, 
far  from  it  ! — but  Chicago. 

After  this  long  journey — in  which  various  stages 
o£  existence  have  been  passed,  from  barbarism  to 
civilization — in  which  men  of  various  hues  have 
been  spoken  to,  Chinese,  Indians,  negroes,  half- 
breeds,  white  men,  not  to  mention  Mormons, — 
and  animals  of  various  forms  have  been  fired  at, 
buffaloes,  coyotes,  antelopes,  prairie-dogs — and 
canvas  huts  on  sandy  deserts  have  been  the  pre 
vailing  order  of  architecture — after  an  experience 
like  this,  Chicago  seems  the  Paragon  of  the  world. 
Where  else  are  to  be  found  buildings  so  palatial, 


Little  Purdy1  s  Friend.  295 

streets  so  crowded,  shops  so  dazzling,  women  so 
elegant,  men  so  thoughtful,  and  wielding  in  their 
hands  interests  so  immense  ?  No,  no — New  York 
may  be  doing  very  well  ;  sea-ports  are  generally 
more  or  less  lively,  even  in  December  ;  London 
and  Paris  are  thriving  because  removed  from  the 
overshadowing  proximity  of  Chicago  enterprise  ; 
but  Chicago  is  Chicago — il  riy  a  pas  a  dire  ! 

This  was  two  days  ago  ;  now,  after  another 
thousand  miles  of  scudding  through  thickly  popu 
lated  towns,  past  the  roar  of  Niagara,  which  even 
winter  can  not  hush,  the  frozen  Hudson  is  reached 
at  last,  and  the  traveler  from  the  Pacific  coast 
looks  at  it  lazily  through  the  large  plate-glass  win 
dow  of  his  palace  car,  and  places  his  boots  on  the 
velvet  cushions  opposite  by  way  of  expressing  his 
contempt  for  anything  so  flat. 

"  Wish  to  look  at  any  of  these  nice  books,  sir  ?  " 
said  Purdy  Golden,  standing  before  him  with  his 
arms  full  of  literature. 

The  traveler  shook  his  head. 

"  All  the  latest  publications,  sir,"  said  Purdy  in 
a  soft,  insinuating  voice.  "  All  the  new  magazines 
for  January — all  the  weeklies — " 

"Got  'em  all,  eh?"  said  the  traveler,  with  a 
hard  stare  of  his  wicked  black  eyes. 

"  Yes,  sir — would  you  like — " 

"  Well,  look  ahere,"  said  the  traveler,  lifting 
his  forefinger  and  shaking  it  with  a  horizontal 
motion  slowly  under  poor  Purdy's  nose  ;  "  take 


296  Little  Purdy' s  Friend. 

all  of  'em  away  wid  you  when  you  go — and  go 
quick — and  don't  come  back  a-bodderin'  me  wid 
'em  again, — 'cause  if  you  do  I'll  give  you  such  a 
lickin'  your  mother  won't  know  you  next  time  she 
sees  you.  Now  mind  !  " 

With  this  the  San  Francisco  man  turned  his 
back  on  the  astonished  Purdy,  and  looked  out  of 
the  window  again. 

The  boy  turned  to  other  passengers,  dropping  a 
book  or  two  by  the  side  of  each,  as  if  it  were  bait, 
and  leaving  them  to  nibble  at  it  apparently  undis 
turbed,  as  if  they  were  fish.  Purdy  was  a  good 
deal  disturbed  by  the  rudeness  of  the  traveler's 
speech,  but  he  was  too  good  a  boy  to  think  of  re 
senting  it ;  and  besides,  he  was  in  pretty  good 
spirits  to-day,  for  business  had  been  brisk  on  the 
up-train,  and  he  already  saw  himself — on  the  ex 
tensive  capital  of  one  dollar  and  a  half  which  he 
carried  in  his  private  pocket-book,  his  own  per 
centages  on  what  he  had  sold  thus  far — President 
of  the  road  and  its  most  extensive  stockholder ; 
more  millions  than  one  in  the  savings  bank  where 
he  had  already  deposited  six  dollars  ;  Rosalind  off 
the  stage,  and  his  mother  luxurious  in  an  invalid's 
chair  of  an  entirely  new  and  unique  pattern,  which 
Purdy  had  lately  viewed  at  the  patentee's  rooms 
in  Broadway — an  ingenious  contrivance,  a  sort  of 
cross  between  a  guillotine  and  a  catapult ;  it  was 
called  the  Procrustean,  and  was  warranted  to  fit 
everybody — or  failing  this,  to  make  everybody  fit  it. 


Little  Purely* s  Friend.  297 

Among  the  most  generous  of  Purdy's  patrons  on 
this  eventful  day  was  a  young  man  who  interested 
the  train-boy  very  much.  He  was  muffled  in  a 
long  overcoat  handsomely  trimmed  with  fur,  and 
richly  braided  with  frogs,  and  which  evidently  came 
from  the  workshop  of  some  European  tailor,  and 
he  wore  a  cap  of  rich  fur  which  looked  extremely 
well  against  his  very  light  hair.  He  appeared  to 
be  as  a  youth  may  be — and  a  youth  only — when 
some  great  happiness  dwells  in  his  soul,  and  all 
the  earth,  and  everything  and  everybody  on  it, 
seem  fair  and  good.  It  was  impossible  not  to  ob 
serve  him  among  all  the  crowd  of  the  car ;  he  was 
so  bright  that  Purdy  noticed  the  very  conductor, 
a  weather-beaten  man  with  a  record  of  thirty  years' 
faithful  service  on  this  road,  made  pretext  to  stop 
frequently  by  his  side  and  say  a  word — how  many 
minutes  they  were  late,  the  exact  time  at  present, 
and  so  on.  The  young  man's  face  was  so  sunny 
it  seemed  to  warm  Purdy's  heart  just  to  look  on 
it ;  and  when  the  train  was  under  full  headway, 
with  its  covering  noise,  Purdy  in  passing  heard 
him  give  vent  to  his  happiness  by  trilling  snatches 
of  delicious  songs  of  love  or  valor,  in  a  voice  of 
silvery  brightness,  true  and  fluent  as  a  flute. 

"  Like  that  book  I  sold  you,  sir?"  said  Purdy 
to  the  singer,  in  one  of  his  passings. 

' '  I  don't  know  if  I  like  it  or  not,"  was  the  reply, 
in  a  pleasant  voice.  "  I  didn't  read  it  yet.  I  didn't 
bought  it  to  read — I  bought  it  vor  a  present." 


298  Little  Purely1  s  Friend. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Purdy,  lingering  by  Hermann's 
side,  without  any  better  reason  than  that  he  liked 
him,  apparently. 

"  How  much  you  make  selling  dose  books,  eh  ? 
You  get  rich  pretty  quick  ?  Not?  " 

"Well,  I  make  about  two  dollars  a  day,"  said 
Purdy,  with  the  air  of  one  who  expects  to  astonish 
you  by  such  a  large  financial  statement. 

"  So  ?  "  said  Hermann.  "  Tvelve  dollars  a  veek 
is  very  nice  wages  for  a  poy  like  you.  Ven  I  vas 
your  age  I  vorked  for  'bout  tvelve  dollars  a  year." 

"  Well,"  said  Purdy,  not  quite  at  his  ease  on  the 
subject.  "  I  don't  mean  to  say  I  make  two  dollars 
every  day ;  but  I  made  that  one  day ;  and  to-day 
I've  made  a  dollar  and  a  half.  I'll  average  about  five 
dollars  this  week,  I  guess.  I'm  just  beginning." 

"  Dot's  a  lot  of  deeference,"  said  Hermann. 
"  Vy  don't  you  go  to  Chigago  ?  Dot's  de  best 
blace.  I  'spect  you  get  rich  some  time  if  you  go 
to  Chigago.  How  vould  you  like  to  go  beck  to 
Chigago  mit  me  ven  I  go  beck  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Purdy,  "  I  can't  go  to  Chicago.  I've 
got  a  sister  and  a  mother  in  New  York  to  look 
after." 

And  he  went  on  gathering  up  his  bait  from  the 
seats. 

Every  time  he  passed  through  the  car,  Purdy 
stopped  and  had  a  chat  with  Hermann,  who 
presently  knew  his  whole  story,  and  took  a  strong 
liking  to  him. 


Little  Purely* s  Friend.  299 

Soon  after  passing  Sing  Sing,  Hermann  felt  him 
self  the  recipient  of  a  severe  punch  in  the  back — an 
unprovoked  assault  which  considerably  startled 
him  ;  but  that  it  did  not  ruffle  his  temper  was  evi 
dent  from  the  sunny  face  he  turned  in  the  direction 
from  which  the -punch  came,  and  the  amiable  tone 
in  which  he  said  to  the  puncher  : 

"You  poonch  your  umbrella  through  mein 
back-bone — not  ?  " 

"Wai,  I  didn't  mean  to  punch  you  quite  so 
hard,"  was  the  grinning  reply,  "  but  wasn't  you  at 
Long  Branch  last  summer?" 

' '  Vat  den  ?  You  stick  your  umbrella  in  de 
back-bones  of  beeples  because  dey  was  at  Long 
Branch  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  I  only  thought  I'd  like  to  talk  to  you, 
that's  all.  You're  the  man  used  to  play  the 
pyany  so  scrumptious,  ain't  you  ?  "  And  here  N. 
B.  Wiggins,  to  illustrate  his  meaning,  twiddled  his 
fingers  in  so  ludicrous  a  manner  that  Kalbfleisch 
burst  out  laughing. 

"  If  I  vobbles  " — this;  had  been  a  very  useful 
word  added  to  Hermann's  somewhat  restricted 
vocabulary  since  La  Pittaluga's  debtit — "  if  I  vob 
bles  my  fingers  like  you  do,  I  not  blay  very  goot, 
I  can  tell  you." 

"  Oh  well,  /  ain't  no  pyany  player,"  said  Take 
Notice,  uttering  a  truth  which  no  one  would  have 
thought  of  refuting,  "  but  I  did  use  to  like  to  hear 
you  operate  on  that  old  machine  at  the  Branch. 


300  Little  Purdys  Friend. 

Thunder  !  how  you  did  make  them  ivories  rattle  ! 
You're  going  to  New  York,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Yas,  and  den  I  goes  to  Philadelphia,"  said 
Hermann,  swaying  his  head  from  side  to  side  with 
pleasure,  as  a  child  hops  from  foot  to  foot  from  the 
same  cause. 

"  Philadelphy's  a  nice  place,"  said  Wiggins. 
"  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  answered  the  truly  Chicagoized  Her 
mann,  "  old  fogy  blace — no  beesncss  dere,  but  I 
don't  go  for  beesness,  I  goes  to  git  married." 

"You  don't  say  so!  Married!  I  want  to 
know  !  One  of  them  Philadelphy  ladies  you  met 
at  the  Branch  ?  " 

Hermann  had  no  difficulty  in  describing  Pony, 
whom  Wiggins  had  particularly  observed  ;  and 
congratulations  were  of  course  in  order. 

After  a  pause  Wiggins  leaned  forward  again  and 
said  in  Hermann's  ear  : 

"  Do  you  see  this  here  man  on  the  other  side 
the  car,  three  seats  back  of  us  ?  " 

Hermann  looked  in  the  indicated  direction  and 
saw  the  person  with  his  feet  ort  the  velvet  seat. 

"  He's  a  gambler  from  San  Francisco;  name's 
Buck  Williams,"  said  Wiggins.  "A  man  in  the 
other  car  was  telling  me  about  him.  Say  he's  a 
desperate  character.  Look  out  for  him.  Don't 
let  him  rope  you  in.  He  may  try  it  by  proposing 
a  game — -seeing  you're  a  furriner  he  may  think 
you're  green.  Good-by.  I  get  off  here.  Have 


Little  Purdy's  Friend.  301 

to  see  a  man  on  business — go  into  the  city  on  a 
later  train." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Hermann,  cordially  shaking 
hands  with  the  man  from  Oshkosh  ;  then  drawing 
a  business  card  from  a  case  which  had  a  picture  of 
the  Hohen-baden  castle  ornamenting  one  side  of 
it,  Hermann  placed  it  in  Wiggins's  hands  and  said 
in  his  brightest  tone,  "  Come  and  see  me  once — 
Not?" 

Wiggins  said,  "  Certainly — certainly  ;  "  and  then 
jumped  off  the  train,  which  barely  stopped  long 
enough  to  take  up  and  let  off  its  passengers.  It 
was  a  lightning  express,  behind  time  and  trying  to 
reach  New  York  at  the  advertised  minute. 

Hermann  was  startled  out  of  a  comfortable  doze 
into  which  he  had  fallen,  by  a  great  crash  as  if 
heaven  and  earth  were  coming  together.  He  was 
hurled  forward  as  if  a  giant  had  taken  him  for  a 
plaything,  and  found  himself  on  all  fours  in  the 
midst  of  a  confused  mass  of  broken  beams,  uptorn 
seats  and  smoking  embers.  The  train  had  come 
to  a  sudden  standstill,  and  the  silence  of  dusk  was 
broken  by  groans  and  cries  and  shrieks  of  pain. 
Escaping  from  the  wreck  as  he  best  could,  Her 
mann  found  himself  unharmed  save  by  a  slight  cut 
upon  his  forehead,  from  which  he  wiped  the  blood 
away  with  his  handkerchief,  and  tying  the  linen 
about  his  head,  looked  around  him.  The  first  ob 
ject  that  caught  his  sight  was  Mr.  Buck  Williams 
from  San  Francisco,  who  stood  quietly  smoking  a 


3O2  Marcia  bears  Witness. 

cigar,  as  if  that  were  the  most  natural  thing  to  do 
under  these  particular  circumstances. 

"Bit  of  a  shake-up,"  said  he  laconically,  ad 
dressing  Hermann. 

"  You're  all  right, — ain't  you  ?  "  said  a  voice  that 
tried  to  be  cheerful  through  pain,  and  turning  Her 
mann  saw  poor  little  Purdy  lying  helpless. 

"  You  are  hurt — not?"  said  Hermann  running 
to  him. 

"  I  guess  my  leg's  broken,"  said  Purdy. 

Hermann  stooped  instantly,  and  Purdy  clasped 
his  little  arms  about  the  young  man's  neck  as  con 
fidently  as  if  he  had  lain  on  that  broad  breast  since 
babyhood.  Hermann  lifted  him  up  and  asked  him 
where  he  lived.  In  a  faint  whisper  Purdy  told 
him. 

"  I'll  took  you  home,"  said  Hermann. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

MARCIA   BEARS  WITNESS. 

POOR  LITTLE  PURDY  !  Where  are  your  grand 
schemes  now  ?  President  of  the  road,  millions  in 
the  Savings  Bank,  the  invalid's  chair,  yclept  the 
Procrustean,  Rosalind  off  the  stage,  a  greater 
length  of  thigh — all  dreams,  not  soon  to  be  realized. 

Rosalind  opened  the  door,  and  seeing  Purdy  in 


Marcia  bears  Witness,  303 

a  stranger's  arms,  his  little  body  wrapped  in  a  great 
overcoat  lined  with  fur  and  richly  braided,  nothing 
but  his  dear  face  visible,  his  eyes  closed,  his  cap 
gone,  his  hair  dabbled  with  dirt  and  blood,  she 
started  back — but  she  uttered  no  sound.  Her 
mother  shrieked  and  tried  to  rise  from  her  chair  ; 
being  unable  to  do  so,  fell  back  again  with  a  moan. 
Hermann  was  too  much  agitated  to  be  surprised 
at  seeing  Mr.  Underhill  in  this  humble  abode, 
though  at  another  moment  such  a  circumstance 
might  well  have  seemed  strange  to  the  young'  Ger 
man  ;  but  Mr.  Underhill's  visits  here  were  frequent 
of  late,  for  every  day  or  two  he  called  to  see 
whether  Mrs.  Golden  had  had  any  tidings  of  Helen 
Wilson. 

"  Dere  vas  a  pad  accident  on  de  train,"  said  Her 
mann,  carrying  Purdy  to  the  sofa  and  gently  laying 
him  down  ;  "  I  yoost  leave  him  here  und  run  vor  a 
doctor." 

In  five  minutes  he  was  back  with  a  doctor,  Mrs. 
Nuffer  following  them,  weeping  and  praying.  The 
doctor  threw  open  the  thick  coat  in  which  Her 
mann  had  enveloped  the  little  boy,  and  examined 
his  bruises. 

"  There  is  no  great  harm  done,"  said  the  man  of 
science.  "  His  thigh  is  broken,  but  at  his  age  it 
will  be  readily  healed." 

Poor  old  Nuffer  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
Strange  to  say,  at  this  vital  moment  she  could  offer 
no  word  of  consolation.  She  was  not  absolutely 


304  Marcia  bears  Witness. 

textless,  but  the  difficulty  was  that  she  could  call 
to  mind  nothing  in  Holy  Writ  which  related  to  rail 
road  accidents  or  fractured  thighs.  Mastering  her 
emotion,  however,  she  quieted  her  sobs  and  grasp 
ing  at  the  first  idea  which  crossed  her  brain,  she 
murmured  piously : 

"  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  thank  you,"  said  Purdy,  trying  to 
smile  in  spite  of  his  pain;  "this  is  sufficient  for 
to-day." 

"We  know  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth," 
said  Mrs.  Nuffer,  beginning  to  weep  again  as  she 
saw  the  little  boy  wincing  under  the  surgeon's 
manipulations. 

"  Per-haps  it'll  be  my  head  next,"  gasped  Purdy 
lugubriously  ;  then  in  a  moment  of  comparative 
ease,  he  cried  out,  "Don't  cry,  mother — don't  be 
worried,  Rosie.  I'll  soon  be  all  right  again.  After 
all,  Mrs.  Nuffer,"  said  he,  with  a  twinkle  of  fun  in 
his  pretty  eyes,  "it's  only  my  thigh.  I  never 
cared  much  for  my  thighs,  you  know." 

Hermann  now  excused  himself,  but  promised  to 
call  again  later  in  the  evening.  It  is  needless  to 
say  how  heartily  he  was  thanked  by  all  for  his 
kindness  to  poor  Purdy,  nor  how  modestly  he  dis 
claimed  any  credit  for  what  he  had  done.  But 
Purdy,  in  spite  of  physical  anguish,  which  was 
rather  increasing  than  subsiding,  clung  to  the 
young  German's  hand  and  absolutely  kissed  it  in 
the  excess  of  his  gratitude. 


Marcia  bears  Witness.  305 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  the  little  fellow  with 
tears  in  his  eyes  which  emotion  had  called  forth, 
though  pain  had  failed  to  do  so  ;  "you're  a  trump. 
Mr.  Kalbfleisch  " — and  then  with  the  inherent  mis 
chief  of  his  age  and  nature  he  added  with  a  droll 
imitation  of  Hermann's  voice,  "  '  Not ! ' ' 

Hermann  smiled  and  again  said  good-by.  The 
door  had  barely  closed  behind  him,  when  it  opened 
again  and  Marcia — the  spectacled,  the  pitted  Marcia 
— quietly  walked  in  and  took  off  her  bonnet  and 
shawl.  Mr.  Underhill  started  forward  the  instant 
he  saw  her.  He  recognized  her,  of  course,  as  Mrs. 
Duncan's  servant  whom  he  had  seen  at  Long 
Branch.  And  day  by  day  he  had  met  her  there, 
face  to  face,  on  the  piazza,  cheek  by  jowl  on  the 
beach,  in  the  hallways,  summer-houses,  and 
wherever  her  service  to  her  mistress  called  her,  and 
never  once  had  he  suspected  that  she  was  other 
than  she  seemed — the  docile  and  well-trained  at 
tendant  of  a  bogus  fine  lady. 

Before  Mr.  Underhill  could  speak  to  her,  Marcia 
was  speaking  to  Mrs.  Golden. 

"I've  come  to  take  care  of  Purdy,  Mrs.  Gol 
den,"  said  she;  "  you  can't,  and  Rosalind  can't. 
I've  come  to  take  care  of  this  little  boy,"  and  she 
laid  her  hand  softly  on  his  curly  head. 

"Oh,  I'm  glad,"  cried  Purdy;  "you'll  cure 
me,  I  know.  I  remember  you  nursed  me  and 
Rosalind  when  we  had  the  measles,  and  cured  us 
up  in  no  time." 


306  Marcia  bears  Witness. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,"  said  Mrs.  Golden. 
"  We've  been  wanting  to  see  you  this  long  time. 
Where  have  you  been  since  you  left  Mrs.  Duncan  ?  " 

"  I  took  service  with  a  family  out  of  town,"  said 
Marcia  ;  "  I  was  in  the  city  to-day  and  came  to  see 
you.  A  woman  in  the  shop  below  told  me  of  this 
accident.  Now  I  shall  stay  with  you  till  Purdy 
gets  well." 

Mr.  Underhill  stepped  forward  and  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  Sister  Helen  !  "  he  said. 

"John!" 

Mr.  Underhill  made  a  movement  as  though  he 
would  embrace  his  sister,  but  she  shrank  from  him 
with  a  frightened  air,  and  turned  away  her  head. 

"  Don't  turn  away  from  me,  Helen.  I  am  glad 
I  have  found  you  at  last,  and  I  want  you  to  come 
home  with  me." 

"  Home  with  you  ?  "  she  repeated,  as  if  doubting 
that  she  heard  aright. 

' '  Yes — I  want  you  to  come  home  with  me  ;  that 
is  the  place  for  you.  I  will  see  that  Mrs.  Golden 
has  everything  that  she  needs." 

"Did  you  know,  John,  that  this  good  woman 
took  care  of  me  when  I  had  the  small-pox  and  no 
one  else  would  come  near  me  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Underhill,  "  and  she  wrote  me 
to  come  and  help  you  in  your  hour  of  remorse  and 
suffering  ;  but  I  would  not — my  heart  was  hard  and 
unforgiving." 


Marcia  bears  Witness.  307 

"  No  matter  now — but  my  duty  is  to  stay  by 
this  good  friend  of  mine  here,"  answered  the 
woman  whom  we  have  known  as  Marcia. 

"  But  your  daughter — our  darling  Fay — do  you 
not  wish  to  see  her?"  this  in  a  low  tone  to  her; 
and  their  conversation  from  this  out  no  one  heard 
but  themselves. 

"John,  I  have  always  resolved  that  if  I  could 
prevent  it,  Fay  should  never  know  that  I  was  her 
mother.  I  have  forfeited  my  claim  to  that  title  a 
thousand  times  over  by  my  wicked  act  of  sixteen 
years  ago.  This  is  my  punishment.  I  deserve 
this  and  more — though  there  can  scarcely  be  a 
greater  suffering  on  earth  than  for  a  mother  who 
dearly  loves  her  child  to  live  near  that  child  and 
feel  that  she  is  a  creature  of  no  importance  to  the 
offspring  in  whom  at  one  happy  period  her  very  life 
was  bound  up.  If  the  mother  of  a  wicked  and 
perverse  child  can  feel  this,  how  much  more  then 
do  I  who  was  blessed  with  so  sweet  and  noble  a 
child  as  Fay — your  Fay — your  daughter  now,  for 
you  have  been  more  than  a  father  to  her,  God 
bless  you  for  it." 

"  Fay  is  a  good  girl,  Helen, — a  dear,  good 
child  ;  she  has  always  supposed  that  she  was  our 
daughter,  but  if  you  will  come  home  with  me  now 
we  will  tell  her  the  truth.  She  will  bear  the  news 
bravely,  I  know,  and  treat  you  with  all  the  love 
and  respect  which  is  due  a  mother,"  answered 
Fay's  good  guardian. 


308  Marcia  bears  Witness. 

"  She  need  never  learn  it,  John.  Why  should 
she  ?  No — spare  her  this.  I  will  love  her  at  a 
distance.  I  always  have.  She  has  already  a 
grief  in  her  young  heart,  and  one  which  I  will  try 
to  dispel.  This  young  man  to  whom  she  was  en 
gaged,  Stuart  Phelps — " 

"  The  scoundrel  !  "  muttered  Underhill. 

"  No  ;  he  has  done  nothing  as  yet  to  forfeit 
your  esteem  or  Fay's  love.  But  he  is  in  deadly 
peril — our  angel  Fay  must  save  him." 

"  Is  he  worth  it  ?  "  asked  Underhill,  contemptu 
ously. 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  a  Christian  duty  to  wrest  him  from 
the  toils  of  the  woman  who  is  now  seeking  to 
drag  him  down  to  her  own  level — and  besides, 
John,  Fay  loves  him,  and  is  grieving  at  his  loss." 

"Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  the  uncle-father,  anx 
iously  ;  but  still  sadly  perplexed. 

Step  by  step  Marcia  (or  Helen)  recounted  to 
her  brother  the  story  of  the  California  widow's 
life  as  she  knew  it — only  too  well,  alas  !  How 
when  scarcely  more  than  a  child,  but  already  old 
in  wickedness,  she  had  fascinated  the  sinful  man 
who  had  been  the  downfall  of  innocent  Fay's 
guilty  mother,  and  induced  him  to  marry  her  and 
leave  the  wretched  Helen  penniless,  friendless, 
and  tossing  on  a  sick  bed  alone  in  the  great  city 
— where  she  might  have  died  from  neglect  had  it 
not  been  for  the  kindness  of  the  poor  actress  in 
whose  rooms  they  were  now  sitting.  How  this 


Marcia  bears  Witness.  309 

Mrs.  Duncan  had  led  a  tempestuous  life  in  Cali 
fornia  for  some  years ;  her  husband's  violent 
death  by  shooting — many  believing  his  wife  to  be 
the  assassin — the  mad  infatuation  for  her  of  ihe 
well-known  gambler,  Buck  Williams,  which  was 
generally  believed  to  have  been  the  true  cause  of 
Mr.  Duncan's  death,  whether  he  died  by  his  own 
hand  or  not  ;  and  finally  her  quarrel  with  Williams 
and  return  to  New  York,  where  under  the  name 
of  Marcia,  Helen  Wilson  sought  service  with  her, 
impressed  with  the  firm  belief  that  here  was  her 
allotted  field  of  duty. 

"And  fate  has  made  my  post  no  vain  one, 
John,"  she  said,  with  enthusiasm.  "  I  have  kept 
a  sleepless  watch  over  Stuart  Phelps — Fay's  be 
trothed — and  I  know  well  the  influences  which 
have  made  him  refuse  to  drop  Mrs.  Duncan's  ac 
quaintance." 

"  But  is  he  not  guilty  at  least  in  so  much  as  this 
— that  he  permitted  Mrs.  Duncan  to  fancy  he  loved 
her,  and  would  marry  her  perhaps  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  you  are  mistaken.  He  has  been  ob 
stinate,  proud,  but  in  no  respect  guilty.  Can  you 
doubt  me,  John  ?  "  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on 
her  brother's  arm.  "Would  I  let  my  daughter. 
marry  a  man  if  I  supposed  him  guilty  in  the 
slightest  degree  with  this  woman— this  woman  of 
all  others,  who  caused  poor  Fay's  mother  so  much 
suffering  ?  " 

Soon  after  this  Mr.  Underbill  rose  to  go. 


310  Mar  da  bears  Witness. 

"  Sister,"  he  said,  "  these  good  people  must  lack 
for  nothing." 

Marcia  accepted  without  hesitation  a  roll  of  bills 
to  be  used  in  their  service. 

The  next  day  when  John  W.  Underhill  went 
home  to  dinner  at  evening,  he  was  accompanied 
by  a  friend. 

"  Tell  Miss  Fay  I  wish  to  see  her  here  in  the 
drawing-room — you  need  not  say  any  one  is  with 
me,"  said  Mr.  Underhill  to  the  grinning  Jo — now 
grinning  harder  than  ever,  for  cause. 

Fay  ran  down  lightly  to  greet  her  father  and 
kissed  him  fondly  as  he  held  open  his  arms.  She 
saw  no  one  but  him  ;  but  the  parlors  were  some 
what  dark  at  that  hour. 

"  Did  you  want  me,  papa  dear  ?  " 

' '  Yes,  daughter ;  there  is  a  person  coming  to  dine 
with  me  to-day  to  whom  I  wish  you  to  be  very 
kind ;  a  person  whom  I  have  wronged,  I  honestly 
believe,  and  therefore  I  want  my  darling  girl  to  be 
all  the  kinder  to  him  on  that  account.  You  will 
do  this,  will  you  not,  darling,  for  papa's  sake  ?  " 

Believing  it  to  be  some  one  who  had  been  con 
cerned  in  a  business  dispute,  Fay  answered  with 
her  pretty  smile, 

"Oh,  certainly,  dear  papa ;  I'll  go  so  far  as  to 
kiss  the  old  fellow  if  you  like." 

"  The  old  fellow  takes  you  at  your  word,  Fay," 
said  a  familiar  voice,  and  a  familiar  face  emerged 
from  the  shadow. 


Marcia  bears  Witness.  311 

Fay  gave  a  little  shriek. 

"  Stuart !  "  she  cried. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  Stuart,  that  abominable 
pig-headed  scamp  who  nearly  ruined  his  happiness 
for  life  by  blind  obstinacy  and  wicked  pride." 

"  No — you  were  not  wicked,"  she  cried,  her  dear 
eyes  brimming  with  tears,  and  eagerly  defending 
Stuart  against  himself.  "  He  was  not  really 
wicked,  was  he,  papa  ?  " 

"  I  erase  wickedness  from  the  account,"  quoth 
Mr.  Underbill,  "  but  the  pig-headedness  will  have 
to  stand." 

"  The  old  fellow  is  waiting  for  that  kiss,  Fay," 
pleaded  Stuart. 

"And  the  old  fellow  shall  have  it,"  said  she, 
kissing  her  father  again  and  again.  "  And  well  he 
deserves  it,  too,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  for 
being  so  good  to  his  little  girl." 

"  I  have  my  case  yet  to  plead,  Fay,"  said  Stuart. 
"  And  I  am  ready  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  every 
thing  as  soon  as  you  are  ready  to  hear  and  pardon 
me." 

"  Stuart,"  said  Fay,  very  gravely,  and  casting 
down  her  truthful  eyes  ;  "  papa  has  brought  you 
back  to  me,  and  what  papa  does  I  know  must  be 
right.  As  for  pardoning  you,  I  pardon  you  with 
out  a  hearing — and  I  never  want  to  know  another 
word  about  it.  We  are  united  again  now — and  I 
hope  we  shall  never  be  separated  so  *long  as  we 
both  shall  live." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

PONY  WINDS  UP  THE  STORY. 

DURING  the  year  and  a  half  which  followed 
these  events  many  changes  occurred  to  the  person 
ages  '  who  have  figured  in  our  story.  Purdy 
Golden  recovered  the  use  of  his  leg,  but,  much  to 
his  astonishment  and  regret,  he  found  that  one  of 
his  thighs  was  even  shorter  than  it  was  before  the 
accident,  and  shorter,  too,  than  the  other  thigh — 
so  that  he  limps  a  little.  Rosalind  Golden  made  a 
great  hit  in  a  part  at  last,  and  was  the  rage  of  the 
hour  on  the  New  York  stage  for  a  time.  How  she 
was  beloved  by  her  fellow-actor,  Mortimer  Perrin, 
whom  ladies  of  fashion  were  assailing  with  love- 
letters  by  the  score,  and  what  she  did  with  his  love 
and  other  loves  which  were  laid  at  her  feet,  may  be 
told  in  another  history — there  is  no  room  for  it 
here.  Mrs.  Nuffer  is  also  mixed  up  curiously  in 
that  untold  history,  and  bides  her  time  to  reap 
pear.  Marcia  lives  with  the  Goldens  still,  and  is  a 
great  help  and  comfort  to  them  all.  There  are 
times,  however,  when  she  breaks  away  from  the 
home  of  her  friends,  and  goes  and  stands  in  front 
of  Mr.  Underbill's  house — hungering  and  thirsting 


Pony  winds  up  the  Story.  313 

for  a  look  in  the  soft  eyes  of  her  quite  unconscious 
daughter,  who,  happy  in  the  possession  of  parents 
whom  she  believes  to  be  the  best  a  girl  ever  had, 
has  more  than  once  shuddered  as  she  caught  a 
passing  glimpse  of  the  pitted  creature  whom  she 
recognized  as  the  woman  who  was  the  servant  of 
her  husband's  temptress,  the  dreadful  Mrs.  Dun 
can.  And  seeing  her  repugnance  written  on  the 
face  of  her  daughter — that  daughter  for  whose 
love  she  would  gladly  give  an  empire,  if  she  had 
it — the  wretched  Helen  Wilson  has  stolen  away  to 
weep  in  silence,  murmuring,  "  It  is  the  just  pun 
ishment  of  my  sin.  I  will  bear  it  patiently.  It 
is  my  atonement.  Darling  Fay,  you  will  know 
me  in  Heaven." 

As  for  Mrs.  Duncan,  simultaneously  with  the 
arrival  in  New  York  of  Mr.  Buck  Williams,  she 
disappeared  as  completely  from  the  sight  of  the 
people  she  had  so  disturbed  as  if  she  had  vanished 
into  air.  Stuart  and  his  wife  Fay  might  never 
have  heard  of  her  again  had  it  not  been  for  the 
correspondence  of  Pony  Kalbfleisch,  who,  from 
Chicago,  wrote  them — about  once  or  twice  a  year 
— accurate  news  of  what  was  going  on  in  every 
quarter  of  the  globe ;  but  her  principal  theme, 
after  all,  was  that  of  every  mother  : 

"My  baby!     Oh,  Fay!  you  just  ought  to  see 

my  baby !     He  weighs  twenty-two  pounds  !     Now 

only  fancy  me  struggling  with  twenty-two  pounds  ! 

He  pulls  harder  than  any  horse  I  ever  drove.     But 

14 


3 14  Pony  winds  up  the  Story. 

I  don't  struggle — I  just  let  him  take  the  whip  hand. 
Fay,  I  don't  want  to  be  vain — I  do  despise  these 
ridiculous  mothers  who,  because  they've  got  a 
baby,  are  as  puffed  up  as  if  theirs  was  the  only 
baby  ever  seen,  and  go  around  declaring  that  their 
baby  is  the  prettiest,  and  the  smartest,  and  the  cun- 
ningest  baby  that  ever  was  born  into  the  world  ;  I 
know  my  baby  is  all  this,  and  on  top  of  it  I  will 
add  that  he  is  the  pinkest,  and  the  blondest,  and 
the  Dutchest  baby  that  ever  saw  the  light  of  day 
in  Chicago — and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal.  He 
laughs  and  crows  all  the  time ;  his  father  comes  in 
after  he's  got  through  business  for  the  day,  and 
takes  him  in  his  arms,  and  they  converse  together 
voluminously  in  their  language  for  quite  a  time, 
and  I  sit  by  till  I  get  tired,  and  then  I  say :  '  Her 
mann,  you'd  better  give  me  the  baby  ;  I'm  afraid 
so  much  German  will  sour  on  his  stomach.'  And 
then  Hermann  laughs,  and  goes  to  the  piano  and 
plays,  and  the  baby  sits  in  my  lap  and  grunts,  and 
says  '  Goot,'  or  something  that  sounds  very  much 
like  it,  I  can  tell  you.  And — will  you  believe  it, 
Fay  ? — that  baby  can  play  the  piano  himself.  True 
as  you  live  !  Sometimes,  when  I  take  him  to  the 
piano,  he  just  yells  with  joy  (Hermann  has  got  his 
yell-note,  and  says  it's  b  above  the  lines),  and  he 
jams  his  fists  and  feet  on  to  that  old  keyboard  as  if 
he  were  going  for  Beethoven  before  he  got  his 
first  tooth. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  we've  christened  our 


Pony  winds  up  the  Story.  315 

baby  ?  Now  if  you  laugh  I'll  never  speak  to  you 
again.  Write  me  if  you  laughed  so  I  can  never 
speak  to  you  again.  His  name  is  Louderbeck 
Staffelhausen  Kalbfleisch.  Did  you  ever  ?  I 
never  did.  It  was  the  name  of  Hermann's  uncle 
who  lent  him  money  enough  to  come  to  America, 
and  Hermann  is  eternally  grateful.  I  said  to  him 
'  Why,  good  gracious,  Hermann,  your  uncle  lent 
you  thirty  dollars  to  pay  your  passage  in  the 
steerage,  which  you've  repaid  a  dozen  times  over — 
that's  no  reason  why  you  should  borrow  his  jaw- 
breaking  name  for  our  baby  to  carry  around  the 
world  till  he  grows  humpbacked  under  it.'  But 
Hermann  would  have  his  way  in  this  though  he 
generally  gives  in  to  me.  Gracious,  Fay,  how  I 
did  wrestle  with  that  name  !  I  had  to  have  it 
written  out  in  a  large  handwriting  and  then  retire 
to  privacy  for  two  hours  a  day  to  study  it.  I  had 
to  walk  up  and  down  and  beat  my  breast  just  as 
we  used  when  we  studied  hard  lessons  at  school. 
I  had  an  imaginary  man  as  a  catechiser,  who  was 
supposed  to  say  to  me,  (whenever  I  thought  I'd 
surely  got  it  now)  '  Madam,  what  is  the  name  of 
this  child  ?  '  To  which  I  answered,  '  Sir,  the  name 
of  this  child  is  Louderhausen  Stauffelbecker  Kalb 
fleisch.'  And  then  I  knew  I'd  got  it  wrong,  and 
he'd  sent  me  down  to  the  foot  of  the  class.  But  I 
mastered  it  at  last,  though  I  sometimes  stumble 
over  it,  even  now.  It  is  the  awfulest  name  to  pet 
a  baby  with  I  ever  heard.  I  generally  say  '  Lou- 


316  Pony  winds  up  the  Story. 

der,  darling,'  but  that  seems  absurd,  for  he  is 
quite  loud  enough  as  a  rule,  /wanted  him  called 
something  dashing  and  off-hand,  original  yet  easy 
to  pronounce.  I  proposed  to  Hermann  '  Phcebus 
Bucephalus  Pony  Parsons  Kalbfleisch  ; '  but  Her 
mann  wants  to  know  how  either  he  or  his  Dutch 
baby  or  any  of  his  '  Yarman  '  relations  would  have 
pronounced  that ;  and  it  would  have  been  difficult, 
I  know,  because  as  it  is,  Hermann  half  the  time 
calls  me  Bony,  which  considering  that  I'm  as  fat 
as  butter  now,  is  too  ridiculous  for  anything. 

"  Fay,  what  shall  I  say  to  you  about  Hermann  ? 
Do  you  know  that  that  man  is  every  day,  every 
hour,  every  minute  so  blessed  good — so  un-mortal- 
like  good — that  sometimes  I  have  to  run  pins  into 
him  to  assure  myself  he  is  not  an  angel.  When  he 
jumps  and  squeals  and  laughs  and  says  '  Now  you 
joost  shtop  dot,  mein  Bony — Not?'  then  I  know 
he  isn't  and  I  feel  relieved.  In  all  the  year  and  a 
half  we've  been  married  I've  never  seen  him  angry 
for  an  instant ;  never  impatient ;  never  ruffled. 
He  gets  up  in  the  morning  and  sings  the  jolliest 
songs  about  '  Mein  frau,  mein  frau,  ja,  ja,  ha,  ha  !  ' 
and  he  kisses  me  and  he  kisses  the  baby,  and 
Louderbeck  answers  promptly  in  Dutch  and  such 
a  time  as  we  do  have  !  At  night  when  he  comes 
home  it's  just  the  same.  And  every  Sunday  he 
goes  to  church  and  sits  back  in  his  pew  with  that 
heavenly  smile  on  his  face  as  if  angels  were  talking 
to  him  instead  of  the  minister.  And  scarcely  a 


Pony  winds  up  the  Story.  317 

day  passes  but  what  he's  doing  some  charitable 
action ;  now  it's  money  for  some  sick  child,  and 
now  it's  clothing  for  some  ill-clad  man,  and  now  it's 
a  remarkably  clean,  fat  porker,  with  his  insides 
nicely  scooped  out  of  him,  trotting  off  to  some 
hungry  widow,  to  whom  gratitude,  goodness, 
Hermann  and  hog  are  thereafter  synonymous 
terms. 

"  So  Cornelia  Cornwallis  has  gone  to  Europe 
again  ?  We  heard  it  in  the  strangest  way.  Hans 
Schmidt  (our  uncle  if  you  please,  a  gentleman  who 
has  just  emigrated  here  from  somewhere  back  of 
Coblentz)  stopped  a  day  with  us  in  Chicago  on  his 
way  out  to  Minnesota,  where  he  expects  to  get  a 
farm  as  big  as  Germany  for  two  dollars  and  a  half ; 
he  went  in  New  York  to  see  Frau  Barham — just  as 
he  was,  lead-rimmed  spectacles,  blue  cotton  coat, 
wooden  shoes  and  green  umbrella.  While  he  was 
there  who  should  walk  in  but  Cornelia !  We 
recognized  her  at  once  by  his  description — elegant 
girl,  etc.  Frau  Barham  almost  fainted  ;  and  sly 
old  Schmidt  took  in  the  situation  at  once  and 
stayed  on  and  on  and  talked  with  Cornelia  (who 
you  know  speaks  German  nicely)  and  told  her  he 
was  Barham's  uncle,  and  that  he  expected  to  get 
the  farm  for  $2.50,  and  how  he  came  over  in  the 
steerage  but  brought  his  own  provisions  and  so  got 
on  very  well.  Well,  you  can  imagine  Barham 
under  all  this ! — but  that  blessed  swell  of  a  Cor 
nelia  treated  the  old  chap  with  the  most  perfect 


318  Pony  winds  up  the  Story. 

consideration,  told  him  she  was  going  to  Europe 
soon,  and  just  behaved — as  I've  always  said  about 
Cornelia — like  a  regular  chip  of  the  Vere  de  Vere 
block. 

"  I  saw  by  a  London  paper  Hermann  brought 
home  the  other  day  that  Lord  de  Coram  had  gone 
to  Egypt.  I  hope  he  took  his  leg.  What  would 
that  youth  sit  on,  Fay,  if  he  hadn't  his  leg  ? 

"  Did  you  notice  that  lumberman  from  Oshkosh 
who  was  at  Long  Branch  when  I  first  met  Her 
mann  ?  ('  Met  by  chance  ?  ' — yes,  dear,  I  remem- 
*ber  that.  Hermann  often  sings  it  to  me.  It's  his 
only  English  song,  and  you'd  die  to  hear  him  sing 
'  Ve  met  py  shance,  de  yisshell  vay.')  I  don't 
suppose  you  remember  the  lumberman,  as  you've 
never  seen  him  since  ;  but  his  name  was  Wiggins, 
and  he  is  a  real  jolly  soul.  He  comes  to  see  us 
frequently  and  has  loaded  our  little  Louderbeck 
(whom  he  calls  '  Bub  ')  with  presents.  He  was 
sweet  on  Pittaluga  for  a  while,  till  he  found  she 
had  a  husband.  La  Pittaluga  was  here  and  sang 
to  fine  houses.  We  were  up  in  Milwaukee  visit 
ing  some  beer  kegs  (our  uncles  and  cousins)  dur 
ing  the  most  of  her  engagement.  One  night  we 
were  here  and  might  have  gone,  but  Louderbeck 
gave  a  concert  that  evening  in  consequence  of  a 
bump  on  the  forehead,  caused  by  trying  to  do 
three  things  at  once,  to  wit :  rocking  the  rocking- 
chair,  steadying  himself  on  the  rocking-chair,  and 
trying  to  discover  whether  the  rocker  of  the  rock- 


Pony  winds  \ip  the  Story.  319 

ing-chair  was  something  good  to  eat.  I  let  Her 
mann  run  over  to  hear  an  act  of  the  Trovatore, 
and  he  returned  in  a  few  minutes,  saying  '  Dat 
Bito'lucca  vobble  as  much  as  efer.'  The  mean 
critic  of  the  Sunday  Grimes  after  she  was  gone 
contemptuously  said  that  '  Pittaluga  was  no  great 
shakes/  but  we  say  that,  at  least,  is  false  ;  for 
she  shakes  like  the  ague  on  the  long  notes. 

"  And  now  comes  the  tragic  part  of  my  letter, 
Fay  dear.  Would  you  believe  it,  that  beautiful 
California  widow  who  was  at  Long  Branch  when 
we  were  there  together,  was  shot  dead  in  the 
street  here  this  morning  by  the  man  who  was  her 
lover — a  notorious  gambler  named  Buck  Wil 
liams.  We  have  seen  her  frequently  in  the  streets 
since  we've  been  married  ;  but  so  changed  you 
would  have  had  difficulty  in  recognizing  the  gor 
geous  creature  of  so  short  a  time  ago.  The  story 
is  that  she  was  going  off  with  some  other  man 
and  deserting  Williams.  The  latter  met  her  in  the 
street,  and  asked  her  if  she  intended  to  persist  in 
this  ;  she  said  '  yes,'  and  turned  away,  when  he 
pulled  forth  his  pistol  and  shot  her  dead.  The 
man  wretch  escaped  while  the  woman  died  upon 
the  pavement  in  the  street  where  she  fell. 

"P.  S.  Please  let  me  know  if  you  don't  get 
this  letter.  The  reason  I  ask  is  because  there  is  a 
struggle  going  on  between  me  and  Louderbeck 
Staffelhausen  Kalbfleisch  in  regard  to  its  posses 
sion.  He  wants  to  post  it  in  his  stomach  ;  I  favor 


320  Pony  winds  up  the  Story. 

the  lamp-box  as  a  more  convenient  receptacle. 
We  are  still  at  variance  about  this  as  I  close. 

"  P.  S.  No.  2.  Just  a  word,  to  say  that  this 
story  of  Mrs.  Duncan  teaches  us  the  old,  old 
lesson,  don't  it? — that  vice  is  never  triumphant  for 

long,  and  virtue there  !      Louderbeck  Staffel- 

hausen  has  torn  a  piece  off  and  is  now  chewing  it 
with  a  sea-sick  expression  which  I  attribute  to  a 
large  ink-blot — no  matter.  Excuse  brevity.  I'll 
write  a  longer  letter  next  time. 

"  And  am  now  as  always, 

"  Your  affectionate 

"  PONY." 


THE  END. 


A   NOBLE    WOMAN'S   BOOK! 


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